


Home

by Annaelle



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, I have no idea where this came from, M/M, Rey is found by Kylo before TFA, Reylo - Freeform, completed fic, fluff and angst (only a little angst though), stormpilot (minor)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 12:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5706940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home has always been an elusive concept in Rey’s mind.<br/>She is no fool; she realizes, somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of her mind, that the family that left her on Jakku never had any intention to return for her; but hope is something that feels almost as elusive as home, and she is loath to give it up. So she clings to the remote and desperate possibility that, one day, someone will come for her.<br/>The days have been the same for years now, and she scarcely expects anything to change, despite her own wishes.<br/>She supposes that is why she is absolutely and horrendously unprepared for what—who—awaits her after a particularly long day, where she had barely scavenged enough for a quarter portion, cut her hand on a jagged piece of metal and barely slept the night before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure where this came from. 
> 
> I'm new to the fandom (and I have been welcomed to the trash heap thoroughly), and I have never written for these two before, so I do apologize if this is hugely OOC. Then again, it is somewhat of a canon-divergence AU, so I guess they have to be a little OOC. 
> 
> I'm rambling. I'll stop. You'd almost think this is my first fanfiction ever. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! I might continue this if you guys like it. I'm not sure yet. 
> 
> R&R, my lovelies!
> 
> Love, Annaelle

**“The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.”** **  
** ―[ ** _Maya Angelou_**](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3503.Maya_Angelou)

Home has always been an elusive concept in Rey’s mind.

She had long since learned to regard the downed AT-AT she slept in as _home_ , but she finds that, though it is a safe haven in the harsh environment that is life on Jakku, it does not feel like _home_ at all. And so, she clings to the idea of _family_ —of a father and a mother that loved her dearly; that left her on Jakku for her own protection—that will one day return for her and take her _home_.

She is no fool; she realizes, somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of her mind, that the family that left her on Jakku never had any intention to return for her; but _hope_ is something that feels almost as elusive as _home_ , and she is loath to give it up.

So she clings to the remote and desperate possibility that, one day, someone will come for her.

It is that thought that guides her through long, monotonous days filled with waking, walking for miles, fighting others for the best parts of scrap metal, bartering for food and going to bed hungry, cold and alone. The days have been the same for years now, and she scarcely expects anything to change, despite her own wishes.

She supposes that is why she is absolutely and horrendously unprepared for what— _who_ —awaits her after a particularly long day, where she had barely scavenged enough for a quarter portion, cut her hand on a jagged piece of metal and barely slept the night before.

It doesn’t seem unreasonable at all to think he’s a mirage until she is standing so close she can feel his body heat.  

He stands, tall, dark and intimidating, before the downed AT-AT. His back is ramrod straight and the wind tugs on the dark, pristine black robes he dons—but it is, perhaps, his helmet that keeps her from straight-out attacking him for daring to wander onto her territory.  

He exudes _pure_ _power_ , and she is not stupid enough to attack when she knows she cannot win.   

“Who are you?”

She stands a little away from him, her staff raised slightly, as she regards him nervously.  Something about him feels _familiar_ in a way nothing else has before, and her curiosity is piqued.

“Rey. It _is_ you.”

His voice sounds distorted and mechanic through the helmet, but she can sense the relief in his voice as he speaks her name. She watches, breathless and confused, as he reaches up to press a couple of buttons on the side of his helmet—and she needs to consciously _stop_ herself from snatching it from his hands to figure out how it works—before he pulls it off.

She is somewhat taken aback by his _youth_ , before she thinks to actually _look_ at him. He is handsome, in a non-typical way with a long, pale face, large ears and nose and full lips that turn up into a gorgeous, delighted smile when his eyes—twin pools of melted dark chocolate—meets hers.

“Wh—who are you?” She repeats shakily, lowering her staff a little as she stares at him.

She feels as though she _should_ know him, but there is a blank in her memories where she would assume she would find him.

“I found you,” he says, not quite replying to her query, “I cannot believe I found you.”

Rey swallows thickly, unsure if she should fear this strange man more than she does, before approaching him cautiously. “You were looking for me?”

“Yes,” he nods, stepping forward—she is startled by how _tall_ he is; he positively dwarfs her—, “Yes, for years; but you were not where I had left you. I did not know you were here until I landed on this Force-forsaken planet.”

His words spark something warm and foreign inside her chest, and it is a feeling so _good_ she wants to hold onto it forever and treasure it as she does the few possessions she has left. “Do you know my family?” She asks, her throat clogged and thick with emotion— _hope, hurt, love_ —as she drops her staff onto the scorching sand, “Did they send you to come for me?”

“No,” he replies softly, reaching out to touch her arm gently, “I came because I am the one that sent you away—I had no idea that the family I entrusted with your care _abandoned_ you on this junkyard mere weeks after I left you there.”

Rey feels overwhelmed by the sudden influx of information, stumbling a little as a wave of dizziness hits her—and no, she's sure that has nothing to do with not having eaten anything solid in four days. The stranger grabs her arm to steady her, and the feel of his skin on her _burns_ deliciously. Something brushes against the edges of her mind, and it's soft and warm and _comforting,_ and she wants nothing than to let it in—but she doesn't know how.

“I feel—” she stutters incoherently, because there’s suddenly _so much_ , surrounding her— _enveloping_ her—and she can barely _breathe_.

“Don’t be afraid,” he tells her calmly, his voice steady and strong—a rock in the sudden tempestuous hurricane that surrounds her—, “I feel it too.” She’s not certain if his words are meant to be comforting, but they _are,_ in a sense, but they’re also _not_ , because none of this is making any sense, and that _frightens_ her.

“What is happening?” She gasps, pressing her hand to her chest as she heaves in several deep breaths, leaning on the stranger as she attempts to regain her balance.

He smooths his hands over her hair gently, before sliding them down her back and resting them on her waist. His eyes are dark, hooded with an emotion she cannot name—it draws her in regardless, and she sways towards him, her intentions a mystery even to herself, when he stops her, a mere hair’s breadth from his lips.

“No, Rey,” he speaks quietly, “Not yet. We have barely reunited.”

She feels a pang of disappointment— _fears_ his meaning, despite his use of the word ‘yet’—but schools her features into a blank look easily enough, before taking a step back. “Yes, of course,” she nods, wrapping her arms around her torso as she chews on her lower lip, “You still have not told me who you are. How did I get dropped here if you never intended for it to happen?”

His expression darkens, and she almost regrets asking—but she _needs_ answers.  

“It is a long story,” he finally says, after a long, tense silence, “One that can wait until we have returned to a safer place. That is,” he looks pained, “if you would accompany me. I once promised I would return for you, and that I would bring you home—but only if you still wish me to.”

She gasps when he offers her _home_ , and she nods before she has even realized what she is doing, grasping at the front of his robes. “Yes,” she whispers, “Take me home.”

He smiles then, a smile of pure _happiness_ and triumph, and she may not understand everything yet, she may not _know_ everything, but she believes that she can depend on someone else for the first time in what feels like her entire life.

“Tell me your name,” she demands when he follows her into the AT-AT to help her collect her meager collection of belongings, “before I follow you anywhere, I want to know your name, at least.”

He chuckles, dragging his fingertips over the apple of her cheek before he responds. “You knew me as Ben, once.” His voice is grave as he speaks, and she senses a deep sorrow in him as he tells her of that name, and she finds that all she wants is to wipe the look of pain in his eyes away, despite having only met him half an hour ago. “However,” he continues, “I have not gone by that name in a long time.”

“What do you go by now?”

His lips twitch into a small smile, almost as though he’s _amused_ by her insistence on knowing his name, and she tries not to twitch in annoyance when he leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead. She is not used to so much physical contact, and she doesn’t quite know how to feel about him instigating it now, despite his claims to know her, to have come back for her.

“It is Kylo,” he finally mutters, his breath hot and moist against her forehead, “My name now. It is Kylo.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still not entirely sure where this is going. 
> 
> I hope this does not disappoint, and I thank everyone who has left a comment, kudos, faves and follows! 
> 
> I love you all!
> 
> Please, R&R, my lovelies!
> 
> Love, Annaelle

**“The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it,**  
move with it and join the dance.”   
—Alan Watts

The large ship Kylo had guided her onto had most certainly _not_ been the home he had spoken of—a temporary one, perhaps, but she could not envision him planning to bring her home to an impersonal military ship where all men and women dressed in First Order garb.

She’s no fool, of course, and she has long since realized that Kylo must be on _that_ side of the war.

She’s not entirely certain how to feel about that. The First Order had been, in all of her previous encounters with them—not that there had been many—, far from kind and fair to her.

Rey has never met a Resistance-fighter either, but she had imagined that he or she would be strong and fair, and that they would save her from her miserable existence on Jakku if she asked them to. That fantasy only lasted until she realized she might lose out on her change to reunite with the family that left her if she’d leave Jakku—and so nothing had come of those fantasies.

She doesn’t pretend she knows much of politics or Kylo’s motivation to join what some are referring to as the ‘New Galactic Empire’, but it does bother her that the person she had been waiting for her entire life is seemingly on the wrong side of the war.

“You are confused,” he says gruffly when he has shown her to her temporary quarters—clean and larger than the AT-AT on Jakku and downright _luxurious_ —, setting down the small bag with her belongings on the bed before he turns to face her.

He had once again donned the helmet before they approached the ship, and his entire stance had changed as well as soon as they were in the company of others, and she doesn’t know what to do with _that_ either.

“Will you not show me your face?” She asks, rather than replying, stepping forward to touch the silver chrome on his helmet gently, “I much prefer to speak to _you_ rather than a mask.”

In response, he only presses a few buttons on his mask and pulls it off, carelessly tossing it onto the bed next to the small bag. “What bothers you?” He presses, stepping forward, touching his palm to her cheek in a tender gesture she had not entirely anticipated.

“Nothing,” she sighs, tilting her head into his hand just a tad, “I just… This is overwhelming. I feel like I don’t know _anything_ anymore, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

He looks down, a somewhat sheepish and contrite expression sneaking onto his face as he runs his fingers through his flattened curls. “Yes,” he chuckles, “Of course. None of this will be making much sense to you without your own memories.”

She eyes him carefully before taking a step back and frowning. “Can you return them to me?”

He sighs, a heavy, weary sound that makes him appear older than he is for a moment, before he shakes his head. “No,” he mutters regretfully, “Once taken, I cannot give them back. However,” he continues when he catches sight of the slightly murderous look in her eye, “I can show you mine. In fact, it might be more explanatory to show you _my_ memories of what happened rather than yours—you were only a child, after all. I did not tell you half as much as I should have, I’m sure.”

“So tell me now,” she whispers, her voice quivering more than she would like to admit, “Tell me everything you couldn’t back then.”

His eyes flutter shut as he heaves another sigh, before he leans forward to touch their foreheads together, his fingertips soft and gentle against her temples. She feels that warm, soft _something_ brush against her consciousness again, and this time, she _knows_ that it is him, and letting him in is easier and more natural than she thought it would be.

It is not even a real decision.

Suddenly, her mind is filled with images and smells and impressions and feelings— _memories_ —that aren’t hers. They’re _his_ , and she’s overwhelmed for a long few minutes, blinking disorientedly as she takes in her new surroundings through Kylo’s— _Ben’s_ —eyes as well as her own.

She sees _green_ and she feels the warmth of the sun on her skin, and it takes her a while to realize that Kylo—Ben—is meditating, sat on a tree stump in the middle of lush green woods. She wonders, briefly, why has chosen this particular memory to show her, when a voice rings out in his head—a calm, strong voice that, though it disturbs the calm of his meditation, doesn’t startle him at all.

_Come to me, Ben. I have something to show you._

She watches, mesmerized, as the child-version of Kylo stands and idly brushes dirt from his tan robes before he casually strolls out of the woods, towards a large, stately building, the likes of which she has never seen before.

“Uncle,” he speaks, his voice squeaky and rough at the same time, coming to a stop before a bearded man in brown and white robes, “Why did you call for me?”

The man turns to face Kylo, and she gasps a little at the flash of pain that tears through Kylo’s mind as he takes in the older man’s wary glance. “Ben,” the man speaks, “yes, we have a new Youngling that will be joining us.” In Ben’s mind, he hears his uncle’s voice speaking quietly, a deep and profound sadness colouring the words.

_They believed she was evil. I found her as they were preparing to kill her._

Rey feels nausea well up in the pit of her stomach, and in the back of her mind, she realises that it is Ben’s response to his uncle’s words that she is experiencing.

“This is Rey,” the older man says, guiding a small girl with tangled brown hair and a wobbling lower lip forward from where she had been hiding behind his robes. “Rey,” the man’s voice softens as he addresses the little girl— _her, that is…_ She's looking at _herself—,_ “This is Ben. He is going to show you around for a bit while I get your new room settled.”

She bristles when she feels something akin to pity flash through Ben’s mind as he kneels before the little girl, offering her a large hand as he speaks softly, telling her of the ponds and gardens he’ll show her, the classrooms and library, and Rey’s heart warms when he lifts little five-year-old her up into his arms, causing her to giggle and laugh.

The memory fades, and she finds herself drawn into another, and then another, and another—flashes of _years_ spent together, a close bond being formed between the two children. Years of laughter and training and growing up together—and he _loves_ her.

The depth of his devotion for the little girl is startling and frightening in its intensity, but also comforting and reassuring—she doesn't realise until later that the flashes of pain and dark are already present in his mind then, and that the last memory he shows her is only the catalyst that prompted him to join the First Order.

She watches as young Ben, no older than fourteen or fifteen, hurries through the long hallways in the Jedi training facility, intent on finding his uncle to inform him of the strange voices he had been hearing—that had warned him of danger and war approaching.

He is worried and afraid, and he wants to do whatever it takes to protect little Rey, who has long since become the only person he can still tolerate without wanting to roll his eyes at their self-righteousness. Even uncle Luke is not above using self-righteous remarks to bring across his point to his many Padawans.

As he raises his hand to knock on the door to his uncle’s chambers, he stiffens when he senses another presence in the room—one he had not expected.

His mother.

“What do you expect me to say, Luke?” His mother’s voice is much like he remembers it, strong and kind, but with a kind of regality that one cannot fake—her royal upbringing will always shine through in the way she walks, talks, stands and bears herself.

“I don't know,” he hears his uncle reply agitatedly, “I don't know much of anything these days, it seems. But I know that their _attachment_ is unhealthy, Leia! Her powers increase dramatically whenever he's around, and she strengthens him like nothing I've seen before.”

“How is that a bad thing?” His mother questions, and though Ben’s mind is already churning with anger and hurt and betrayal, he keeps quiet, listening to what his uncle will say next.

“He'd kill for her, Leia,” Luke says finally, “without regret or hesitation. He loves her in a way that is not healthy for a fourteen-year-old to love a seven-year-old. We need to do _something_.”

“Luke,” Leia sighs, “they're children. I'm sure it's not that bad.”

“But it is,” Luke insists, “surely you've felt the same shift in the Force that I felt? He's slipping into the Dark, Leia, and he'll take Rey with him. We need to take her away; keep her safe somewhere else. She is young enough that her training can be delayed until we have helped Ben understand that the way he feels about her is not good. He is to be a Jedi; he cannot afford to form attachments like the one he has formed with Rey. They'll need to be separated—perhaps permanently.”

The memory fades slowly, and Rey gasps, tears running down her cheeks as she grasps at the fabric of Kylo’s shirt, taking comfort in his solid presence, his hands running through her hair and down her back comfortingly. “Do you see?” He whispers, “I had no choice. They were going to take you away from me—maybe even kill you to take away the temptation entirely. I couldn't let that happen.”

She _does_ see—she has felt his devotion, his _love_ for her, and though it frightens, and confuses her—but it is _too_ _much_ at once, and she needs a little time to _breathe_.

She is glad he seems to sense her need for time and a little space, because he presses a kiss to her forehead again before he steps away—and she pretends she doesn’t feel the loss of his solid warmth in her arms acutely—and offers her a timid smile. “I will return in a few hours. Use the time to rest—we will arrive at the house I had prepared for you soon. There we can speak further.”

She nods shakily and watches as he puts his helmet back on before he strides out of the room, leaving her alone to her tangled, confused thoughts.

She doesn’t know what happened after the last memory she had witnessed, but from what he has told he already, she gathers he found her a family so she would be safe until he returned for her—why they left her on Jakku is a mystery to him as much as it is to her—and she thinks he joined the First Order soon after taking her away from the Jedi Academy.

She doesn’t know how to feel about that.

He betrayed his family for her.

She _hates_ that he felt he needed to do that.

But she also loves him for being strong enough to fight for whatever it was they shared as children.

Now, she thinks as she sinks down on the narrow bed, all she need to figure out is whether she will join him, start a life with him—as friends, family or even lovers—as he had obviously always hoped she would, or if she will leave him and forge a path in a life on her own.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a mess. 
> 
> No idea what happened here. 
> 
> I hope you guys still like it, and that it doesn't disappoint :D 
> 
> Thanks for all the love, darlings! 
> 
> Please R&R! 
> 
> Love, Annaelle

**“If there is no struggle, there is no progress.”  
—Frederick Douglass**

Rey has always considered herself to be a pragmatic, sensible person—not one to be ruled by a silly thing like emotion at all.

And yet, she considers, here she is.

On a First Order freighter, by herself, in chambers that feel entirely too much and too big for her alone, after following a man she barely knows because he had given her a vague promise of _home_.  Even after viewing his memories, after realizing that he _does,_ indeed, love her—at least the _her_ he remembers—she is unsure what to do with the new knowledge she’s been given.

Yes, she believes that Kylo will do whatever she asks of him—but she is not so certain about the rest of the Order. After all, they’ve all seen her come aboard; they’ve all seen her face, and she doesn’t doubt that some of them know her name as well.

“Okay,” she tells herself, curling up on the small cot in the corner of the room, “you can do this. Just summon up the things you know.” It’s a simple enough demand to follow, and so she does—she’s let her emotions and curiosity guide her too much already.

For all she knew, Kylo could have been sent to kill her after all.

“One,” she starts shakily, pressing her head back against the wall, “the people that left me on Jakku weren’t _really_ my family. Two; Kylo— _Ben_ —left me with that family, to keep me safe, so the Jedi couldn’t separate us permanently.”

That, in itself, raises only more questions.

She can hardly believe she had been part of a _Jedi_ training program; she can barely believe that she was force-sensitive, as she thinks it’s called. She’s not too sure where those powers went; maybe Kylo somehow took them too, like he did her memories.

“Three,” she sighs, wrapping her arms around her torso, “I need to find out more about my past before I decide anything—I need to find out what Kylo makes me feel _now_ , not twelve years ago.” She makes a face and groans, rubbing her hand over her forehead as she adds, “but to figure that out, I need to spend time with him.”

She sits in silence for a while longer, silently debating her options, before she decides she should probably rest for a few hours, like Kylo had suggested. She knows that, when they get to wherever he's taking her, she'll likely be too hyped up and curious to explore wherever they'll be to sleep.

With a sigh of resignation, she toes off her boots and curls up on the bed—softer than any other bed she's ever slept on—and pulls the sheet up to her middle.

She’s asleep before her head even touches the pillow.

.

.

.

Her head aches when she wakes up, and her limbs are heavy and tired. Her thoughts are slow and confused at first, and she honestly cannot remember the last time she slept so deeply. She’d learned long ago that being a light sleeper was a good thing to keep other scavengers from stripping everything she had collected in the old AT-AT.

She rolls onto her back and stares up at the dull gray ceiling, wondering vaguely when Kylo will be coming back to the room, adding to her emotional turmoil again. She’s still unsure of what to do—or _think_ —about him and the things he had, oh so vaguely, offered her.

Slowly, she sits up, carefully attempting to sort through her memories to make sense of the situation she has found herself in. She pulls at the soft fabric of one of the scarves she’s wrapped around her torso, rubbing the tip over her nose as she shuts her eyes, trying to separate dreams from reality…

And snaps her eyes back open as she recalls her own initial reaction to Kylo’s presence.

“Sithspit,” she curses, grimacing as she recalls swaying towards him—very nearly _kissing_ him—and his delicate, but undeniable rejection.

It stings a little, knowing just how much he loves her—how much he sacrificed for her—only to reject her when she readily offered herself to him. Of course, she’s no fool—she realizes he probably knew just as well as she did that she wasn’t really in her right frame of mind.

Still.

Part of her brain is telling her to shut up and be grateful, while the other part is balefully lamenting about missed chances and opportunities—and a _handsome_ man that had literally decided to take on the galaxy for her, only to look at her as no more than a sibling.

The moment that thought crosses her mind, she chastises herself for it—she will _not_ allow herself to be swept away by Kylo’s good looks and apparent _feelings_ for her. Doing so would only cause confusion and pain if she decided on a path that would lead them away from one another, and attachment and affection would only lead her down a path she does _not_ want to go down.

‘Well,’ she amends silently, ‘not yet anyway.’

With a heavy sigh, she flings the covers off and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, fully intent on seeing if she could get out to explore where she is, when she is hit by an unexpected bout of dizziness.

It’s almost like she can hear thousands of little voices in her head—little lights that became a part of her soul before she even realized they did.  

‘Okay,’ she shakes her head quietly, ‘Let’s try that again, a little slower this time.’

She stands on shaky legs, rubbing her hands over her arms as she crosses the room to the door. She frowns at the little panel beside where the door handle would usually be and taps the button that says ‘open’, grumbling under her breath when it blinks up at her, demanding a security code.

“Did he stick me in a prison cell?” She asks aloud, chewing on her lower lip as she tries again, and again, only to get the same result.

“Damn it,” she curses, stomping back to the bed to get her bag—she’s fairly certain she put a few of her tools in there. If she can pry off that panel without damaging the wiring in the back, she should be able to jolt the right wiring and open the door that way.

Before she can, however, the door hisses and slides open, and Kylo steps inside, tugging off his helmet as he does, an aggrieved growl falling from his lips.

She freezes, eyes wide and startled, fingers curled around a flat screwdriver.

“A—are you okay?” she stutters, hastily dropping the tool back into the bag, silently hoping he didn’t see it—she’s got the feeling he won’t take it very well if she told him she’d planned to break out of the room.

His eyes are dark— _darker_ —when he looks up at her, slightly red-rimmed, and he almost looks like he’s in pain.

She’s surprised by how much that thought _bothers_ her.

“Yes,” he finally grouses, “I’m fine. My master simply felt the need to _reinforce_ my loyalty now that I have finally found you again. His methods were, perhaps, less than pleasant.”

She feels nauseated at the implication, and she has to consciously stop herself from reaching out for him—she can read body language easily enough, and she senses he won’t take kindly to being treated as though he _needs_ comfort.

“Oh,” she whispers, but words escape her, and she doesn’t know what else to say to that.

He moves towards her, sitting down on the bed next to her—he’s so close she can feel the warmth radiating from his body—and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says slowly, “I locked the door when I left earlier—I didn’t trust that no one would seek to take advantage of you while you rested.”

She scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest as she glares at him. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I did a pretty damn good job on Jakku good job _by myself_ for twelve years.”

He winces, and she immediately regrets the little jab, reaching for his gloved hand to draw his attention back to her. “I’m okay, you know?” she tells him, offering him a tender little smile. “I… I don’t blame you. Not really. You tried to save me—you did what you could.”

“I really am okay,” Rey repeats softly when the turmoil in his eyes does not die down, and his hand—resting on his thigh, weighed down a little by hers—twitches. She moves to entwine her fingers with his as she pulls his hand from his thigh into her lap in a gentle motion.

She can’t help but admire the stark black of his leather glove against her own skin, and she finds it hard to focus on anything but the little voice in the back of her head telling her that this is _right_ , this is what was always meant to happen.

“Are you sure?” His voice is raw with suppressed emotion, and startles Rey from her thoughts once again.

He has the tendency to do that.

Nonetheless, she nods affirmatively. She squeezes her fingers around his briefly. “I am. There is no need to worry for me anymore. I’m here with you now. I’m okay. You found me.”

She can see the corner of his lips twitch upward slightly and suppressed a smile of her own—she still hopes to get the full story from him soon; but she only needs a few minutes in his presence to know that any path that would lead her away from him would only hurt them both.

She’s no masochist—she has no desire to make them both unhappy.

“I’ll have to return to the bridge shortly,” he whispers regretfully, and it’s almost as though she can _feel_ his disappointment at having to cut their time together short again; it’s the oddest sensation, but an oddly comforting one.

“Will you lock the door again?” she asks softly, leaning her head against his shoulder and pressing their hands against her belly.

“Only until we reach Naboo,” he replies reluctantly, “until I can be certain you’ll be safe.”

She wants to protest again; argue that she can take care of herself—that she doesn’t need him to treat her like a child—but the brief flash or agony that had flitted through his eyes when she brought it up earlier stops the words before they fall from her lips.

Instead, she heaves a sigh and nods. “Fine,” she grumbles, “Fine.”

He chuckles and then leans in, pressing his lips to her temple. “I am _happy_ I found you, my little Rey,” he confesses quietly, “I desperately hope I’ll not have to let you go again.”

Before she can formulate a reply, he’s moved again, pulling his hand from hers and pulling his helmet back on again. “I’ll return soon,” he promises, his voice oddly mechanic through the filter in the mask.

With that, he steps outside and closes the door, and she can hear the lock activating.

Rey sighs heavily and shuts her eyes, falling back onto the bed as she rubs her fingers in rhythmic little circles on her temples. She honestly does not know what to do next—this may all seem too good to be true, but it feels unnervingly _good_ and _real_ and _permanent_ , and she’s not sure what to make of that feeling.

It is a foreign one, and she does not like things she cannot identify immediately.

She likes it when she knows what to expect—and so far, it seems that Kylo has been the exact opposite of what she’d been expecting for years.

She doesn’t know what to do with that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there. 
> 
> So, here's another installment of this little fic. I think I'm beginning to get a sense of what I'd like to explore in this story. Of course, there's the whole Ben (Kylo)/Rey romance, but I'd also like to dig a little deeper on the subject of war itself. 
> 
> In every war, there are two sides that both believe they're fighting for the right thing. And after a war, it is always the VICTOR that gets to write history. The winner gets to decide what other generations will remember, and I'm curious as to how that will work into the whole First Order ideology. 
> 
> What happens when Rey hears the other side of the story first? 
> 
> Anyway, that's just the general idea. I haven't worked out any of the details yet, and I won't for a couple of weeks because midterms and tests and university in general. I promise to get back to it as soon as I can though!
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for your continued love and support! You guys are amazing. 
> 
> Please, R&R, my darlings!
> 
> Love, Lisa
> 
> PS I might also be in need of a beta-feel free to volunteer. But-I wouldn't be nice to you. I'll probably drive you mad with theories and plotlines and my incessant chatter. And the pay's not very good ;)

**“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with**  
acceptance can there be recovery.”  
—J.K. Rowling

Rey did not expect to love Naboo as much as she does.

Kylo had told her, she remembers, that it embodies the best of the Old Republic. The Naboo still hold tight to the values of said Republic, before those had been corrupted and twisted by Chancellor Palpatine and his compatriots.

He says that he thinks he would have liked growing up here.

She has to agree. The rolling plains, grassy hills, gorgeous landscapes and breath-taking sights are, of course, only the start of why she fell so head over heels in love with this little planet. There is a sense of peace and tranquillity here—one she’s never experienced before—that she never wants to lose again.

Everything feels so much _easier_ here.

Even the idea of possibly, one day, having to leave Kylo behind to forge her own path is not so frightening anymore. He’s been less tense—dare she say, _happier_ —too, since they arrived at Varykino. He had told her his grandparents married in these gardens, even fell in love in this house, in these fields, and it adds something to the knowledge that he brought _her_ here too.

Now Kylo… Kylo is a whole different issue.

She can love Naboo—she can see herself never wanting to leave the planet again—but the dark-haired, stern, handsome man that had rescued her from Jakku… She doesn’t know what the future could hold for them, and she knows it frightens him as much as it frightens her.

After all, she’s not the one who’d been working towards their reunion for a decade. 

He had shown her to the chambers he had prepared for her the moment they arrived, hovered awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before gruffly telling her he’d be in the other room and disappearing.

She’d decided, rather quickly, that being alone for a bit longer was a good thing—but she is rapidly coming to regret that decision now.

She’s no good with sitting still, and she has no idea whether Kylo will protest to her wandering the house by herself or not, and she just… She doesn’t want to anger or hurt him.

She may not know what she wants to do with herself or their _relationship_ —for a lack of a better word—yet, but he is still the boy that decided to renounce his family for her; that took up with the First Order and a Master that seems to enjoy _hurting_ him for her.

He came back for her.

It may have taken him a long time, but he still came, and that means a lot to her.

She sighs, sitting up on the bed again as she takes in the large, luxurious room. She’d thought, before, that the room he’d given her in the freighter had been large and _far_ too much for her alone, but _this_ …

It’s gorgeous, the walls a creamy off-white shade, thick beige curtains obscuring the large floor-to-ceiling glass doors that open onto a patio with a breath-taking view, and every piece of furniture is wooden and handmade, with flowers and stars painstakingly delicately carved into the warm, dark wood.

And the bed…

The bed is _so_ big, and soft, with fluffy pillows and sheets and comforters that make it feel like she’s lying on a bed of clouds—it’s more than she’s ever known in her entire life, and it both delights and annoys her.

It delights her, because she’s never felt this _taken care of_ , this _loved_ , and it makes her heart do something funny in her chest—but it annoys her, because she doesn’t _need_ to be treated like some kind of fragile princess; she’s a scavenger from a desert planet.

She’d sleep on the floor if she had to.

She frowns, unused to feeling so conflicted, and reaches up to undo the three buns on the back of her head, sighing a little as the tension in her scalp recedes a little, her hair tumbling down over her shoulders in messy waves.

She sits on the bed for a little while longer, running her fingers through her loose hair idly, before heaving a sigh and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and getting to her feet. She pads toward the door, barefoot, and swings it open, looking out into the hallway curiously, wondering vaguely which door Kylo is hiding behind.

Something thrums in the back of her mind, and suddenly she feels something drawing her towards the door of the room closest to hers—and she doesn't know _how_ , but she _knows_ he's in there, knows that he's sleeping, or dozing, and that she can go right in.

Her hand hovers over the door handle for a long minute as she tries to separate herself from whatever it is that is _pulling_ at her, _demanding_ she march into his room and, and…

She's not sure what it's demanding she do when she finds him, and she's not entirely sure she wants to know either, but it's getting too strong to ignore, and before she can stop herself, she's pushed her way inside. The room is dark, much darker than her own, and she can barely make out the large lump—that she assumes is him—on the bed.

“Kylo,” she whispers softly, almost involuntarily, as she approaches the bed, “are you awake?”

He doesn't respond, and she decides to take his silence as a ‘no’. She stops at the edge, her breath catching in her throat when she realises he's shirtless, wearing nothing but loose trousers and the sheets that are haphazardly strewn about the bed.

She takes advantage of the moment and studies him, wincing at the many scars that litters his torso and arms, deliberately stilling her twitching fingers from tracing every single one of them to discover if his skin is as soft as it looks, and if the scars will feel softer or rougher than the rest of him.

The pull is still there, and she can't restrain herself any longer.

She climbs onto the bed with him, lying down next to him, careful not to touch him, even though she is almost _aching_ to. He looks younger, she observes, and more vulnerable when he sleeps—sweeter too. Much like she imagines what he would have looked like when they were children; not exactly like a child, but there's a child-like innocence to his expression now.

“I don't know what's happening,” she whispers, scooting closer when the urge to touch him becomes too much to ignore. Her skin burns deliciously when she settles against his side, her cheek resting against his shoulder, one leg slung over his and her hand settled on his chest, where she can feel his steady heartbeat.

The pull is finally gone, and the thrum in the back of her mind has settled as well, feeling less like a hive of angry bees and more like the satisfied purr of a kitten.

She blinks tiredly, wondering briefly if this is what the Force feels like before dismissing the thought.

That's not how it works.

Unfortunately, by the time she drifts off, lulled to sleep by his steady breathing and comforting warmth, she is no closer to figuring out what it was that drew her to him than she was when it first started.

.

.

.

Rey awakes with a jolt when something softly trails over her forehead, blinking confusedly before she realises that it's Kylo, gently tracing her features with the tips of his fingers. She stills and he stiffens for a split-second before she leans into his touch, a quiet, satisfied hum falls from her lips. She pushes her lower lip out into a pout when his hand stills on her cheek again, and her eyelashes flutter against his palm when she opens her eyes, and she can feel him shiver just a little bit from where she's still pressed against him.

“Hi,” she whispers hoarsely when he remains quiet, his eyes dark and his expression completely unreadable, and suddenly she wonders if _this—_ crawling in bed with him, snuggling with him, falling asleep on him—was such a good idea after all, undeniable and mysterious _pull_ be damned.

He's silent for a moment longer, before he heaves a heavy sigh and slides his hand down, coming to rest at her waist, gently caressing the fabric-covered skin there. “Hey,” he finally responds, offering her a soft smile, his voice gruff with sleep.

Rey shivers a little when his fingers sweep over a patch of bare skin, her own fingers seeking out his shirt almost automatically.

“About,” she starts slowly, biting her lip nervously, “about _this_ —” Before she can finish her sentence (and she isn’t sure what the end of that sentence would have been), Kylo interrupts, laying his hand atop hers, closing his fingers around hers gently.

“Don't worry,” he whispers, his eyes locked on hers—and she just _can’t_ look away from him. “I was quite pleased,” he continues, “ _surprised_ , but pleased to find you here when I woke. Rey…” he smiles weakly and reaches down to stroke her cheek, “I wouldn’t wish it any different. I don’t want you to leave—and I most certainly do not want to let you go. If it were up to me, I'd keep you by my side always.”

“Even though meeting me eventually forced you to turn to the Dark Side? To a Master that likes _hurting_ you?” She whispers uncertainly, unable to truly grasp what he just professed to her—she didn't expect big words or confessions; he never struck her as the type.

His eyes darken slightly, and he shakes his head, leaning in to press a feather light kiss to her lips—it’s over before she realizes, before she gets the chance to really decide whether she wants to kiss him back or not. “Whatever it takes to have you in my life, Rey,” he vows, smiling at her (and damn her, but her heart skips another beat, and all she wants now is to wrap herself around him and never let him go again).

“Even if I'd want to leave?” She chokes, blinking furiously to keep her treacherous tears at bay. “If I wanted to see the galaxy, travel, experience things by myself? What if I want to be a Jedi after all?”

“Then you'll become a Jedi,” he replies, as though it's the simplest thing in the world. “I'll deal with anything,” he tells her, a small smile on his lips, “whatever life you decide you want. Whatever—or _whoever—_ ” the words are clearly forced, and she can sense he _loathes_ the mere idea, “you decide to pursue, I'll be right here. We were separated for too long already, Rey, and I want you in my life, in whatever capacity you see fit.”

His words make her heart do that funny thing in her chest again, and she looks down as she feels her cheeks warm. “I'm afraid though,” she admits, wiggling a little closer so she can hide against his chest, “I don't know why I feel so _drawn_ to you. It's almost like I have no control over it— _this_ —us, and that scares me. There's so much I don't know.”

“Don't be afraid,” he replies ever so softly, pressing his lips to the top of her head, “I can teach you; show you the ways of the Force. You'll never have to be alone again. I'll be there, I promise.”

She gasps through a soft sob against his chest, clutching at him desperately, terrified that this'll turn out too good to be true—that he'll disappear if she lets go.

Or worse; that he'll lose interest in her after all.

 "I—" she chokes, "I—"

Kylo swallows thickly, but smiles sadly, understandingly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I know, my love, I know,” he whispers against her skin. “Try to trust me. I won't lead you astray, I promise. I'll tell you everything you want to know and more.”

Rey lets a shuddering breath fall from her lips, shaking a little as she swallows thickly a few times, trying to convince herself that she is okay—she’s fine.

"Sorry," she mutters, casting her gaze down to where her hand is pressed against his chest..

She breathes in deeply, trying to find the courage to tell him that she _does_ want to trust him, that she _does_ want to be with him, but she feels like she's only able to reach it with the tips of her fingers—she's absolutely terrified of confirming her feelings for him. "Promise you won't hurt me," she breathes, realizing she _needs_ that answer; she _needs_ to know that he's not just playing with her.

Kylo shakes his head at her, leaning in slowly to caress her lips with his. She kisses him back slowly, almost automatically. His lips are incredibly soft, and for a second, she's afraid she'll do something wrong, that he won't like it, but then he sighs happily against her lips, and sinks into the kiss. Reluctantly, he leans away again and smiles at her, whispering, "I promise, my love."

"Okay," she breathes shakily, "Okay."

“I will not let you go again, Rey,” he whispers, “I love you, and I will never stop fighting for you.”

She bites her lip, sliding her leg up, over his, to pull him closer, and smiles lightly. She feels better now—less conflicted, less afraid and more in control. “Good,” she breathes, “because I think… I think I might love you too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another little installment of this little fluffball of a story :D Little sprinklings of angst for your reading pleasure :D I'll try to update soon again!
> 
> Thanks for the continued love and supports, darlings! 
> 
> And thanks to Juulna (MeaghanM) for helping me out with my stories :D
> 
> Love, Annaelle

**Our greatest weakness lies in giving up.**  
The most certain way to succeed is always to try one more time.   
—Thomas A. Edison

**A MONTH LATER**

Rey isn't sure what she expected when she agreed to let Kylo show her the ways of the Force. She'd hoped, perhaps, that it would be much like the long walks they had taken together—lighthearted and easy and fun—or the evenings they spent curled together on one of the many sofas in the common area of the house.

Unfortunately, it was nothing like that.

He had begun by teaching her several forms of meditation. She's well aware he predominantly chooses to use the Dark Side of the Force and, though she doesn't think she has quite enough awareness of the Force to decide which Side she'll be using, she felt _weird_ attempting the meditational method he uses to hone his powers—she's not as _angry_ or _fearful_ as he is, and she finds it difficult to summon those feelings.

He'd accepted rather gracefully that that technique was not for her and offered to show her others; techniques mostly used by Jedi. She could tell that he felt uncomfortable teaching her about these techniques, but he had stuck to his word and accepted that she might be better suited for the path of the Jedi than that of the Sith.

“I think,” he had said, “that you might want to begin learning the technique Master Luke—” he spits the name as though it tastes filthy on his tongue, and knowing what she does about the man, she cannot blame him for feeling resentful towards his old Master “—invented and incorporated into our training. I recall you were quite skilled at it.”

“Oh,” she had replied, unsure of what to say. Fortunately, he had not expected a reply, and had continued his explanation.

“It's called Heji tal,” he'd continued as he sat, folding his legs beneath him in a relaxed lotus position, “and, if you succeed, this form will allow you to become one with the Force as much as you can while still alive. It will help you learn to be aware of your surroundings without using your physical senses, and help you find inner peace and even knowledge.”

He had instructed her on how to mirror his position, and to attempt to empty her mind.

This, of course, was easier said than done.

Her head is always buzzing, a little hive of activity, and, even when she sleeps, she feels like her brain is too wired and busy to truly rest. There is always _so_ much going on in her mind, she honestly doesn't know where to begin to empty it.

“Focus on one thought,” Kylo says softly, quietly, without opening his eyes, “and imagine it tied to the iron balustrade that is your mind like the balloons I showed you last week. Untie it, and let it float away. Once you have done that, move on to the next one, and repeat the process until the balustrade is empty, and all you can sense is the Force.”

It seems simple enough, and when she imagines the balustrade—its iron old and stained with rust and scratches—she is surprised by how many strings there are.

It is almost intimidating.

She refuses to be intimidated though, and determinedly moves to the first balloon—a thought about how she sometimes misses the old AT-AT, with its dented walls and hollowed-out interior. It had been home for nearly seven years, and she finds it hard, at times, to remember that it isn't anymore.

Her eyes are a little teary when she unties that string, watching it float away—and she is surprised by how much _lighter_ she already feels.

She moves on, untying string after string, feeling lighter and more at peace with every string she unties. She can _feel_ the Force more clearly now, moving in and around her, between her and Kylo, and she doesn't need to open her eyes to know that there is a cleaning lady in the kitchens, along with two maids and a cook—their Force signatures thrum happily and strongly in her mind, and it is _beautiful_ and _awe-inspiring_.

Her mind is blissfully empty and she revels in the feel of the Force, feeling Kylo’s strong Force signature radiate out towards her, and she's in awe of the strength of his Power. She can sense it through the Force; that _something_ that distinguishes him from the rest of the people she can sense, and it's _amazing_.

He doesn't _feel_ dangerous or Dark as she had been a little afraid he would, and she doesn't know what to make of that. Kylo had said himself that he believed the Dark Side of the Force made him stronger, and that he used it so that no one would be able to force him to leave her again.

He wilfully ignored the fact that his Master _could_ do just that, and she had let him.

She studies him for a while longer, trying to observe the way the Force swirls in and around him—and she sees no difference between Light and Dark.

She wonders if that should alarm her. 

When she finally opens her eyes a while later, she is surprised to see that the sun is already setting, and Kylo is no longer sitting opposite her, but on the sofa on her right, regarding her with an expression that is both pensive and proud.

“I did it,” she says softly, dimpling up at him when he rises and crosses over to her, offering her a hand to help her stand.

“You did,” he nods, leading her towards the sofa after she has stretched out her limbs from hours spent in the same position. “I'm proud of you,” he offers, smiling that secret little smile— _her_ smile—when she settles against his side. “It's not easy, but you managed it on your first try.”

Rey smiles a little, curling up against him, resting her head on his shoulder and curling her fingers in the front of his shirt. “I think,” she starts, unsure of how to put what she had felt during her meditation into words, “I think I'm not meant for the Dark Side.”

He stiffens, and she continues hastily, “But I don't think I'm exclusively Light either.” She sits up a little, so she can look at him, resting her hand on his cheek so he can't look away. “I don't think you are either.”

He frowns, his eyes darker and stormier than usual, before he sighs. “I know. I feel the pull to the Light as much as the pull to the Dark.”

She offers him a timid smile and says, “There is no reason we can't practice both sides of the Force, right? We are supposed to let it lead us—that's what you told me.” She grins when he grumbles under his breath before he pulls her closer again, pressing his lips to the top of her head. She blushes a little—but she does _love_ it when he does that—and slips a leg over both of his, tucking herself into his side.

“You're right,” he admits, “and we'll find a way to find balance.”

She nods against his chest and closes her eyes again, letting his heartbeat soothe her into a light sleep.

.

.

.

She wakes when Kylo lightly shakes her shoulder, pouting up at him, fluttering her eyelashes lazily. “No,” she whines playfully, “I don’t want to wake up yet.”

He chuckles but doesn’t say anything, and she reluctantly sits up, grumbling a little as he runs his fingers through her hair, gently pulling her forward until their lips are once again touching. She sighs happily against his lips, raising her hand to rest against the back of his neck, holding him in place.

If he woke her up simply so he could kiss her, she’ll be just a _little_ bit angry with him.

She really likes her sleep.

He hums against her lips; a happy little sound that makes her heart squeeze a little; and holds her to him for a few more moments before releasing his grip on the back of her head and breaking the kiss. “It’s time to eat,” he tells her, “the cook just came out to tell me. He’s prepared a large spread for us.”

“Oh,” she breathes, still feeling a bit dazed after that kiss, “okay.” She leans away from him and sighs, turning to look over her shoulder, towards the large wooden table that stands in the middle of the room, its surface overflowing with delicious-smelling dishes that make her mouth water. “Oh,” she breathes, a little overwhelmed by the sheer _amount_ of food, “woah. I—I don't think I've ever seen so much food.”

He frowns, and she can _feel_ that he's upset, and she immediately wishes she hadn't said anything.

“Let's eat then,” he replies gruffly, rising from the couch and, once again, offering her his hand.

She frowns, but takes his hand and lets him lead her towards the table. Once they’re seated, she watches in astonishment as he begins to load both their plates with the biggest amount of food she’s ever seen—she doesn’t think she can that much even in a week!

They hadn’t really sat down for big meals before—she and Kylo had spent much of their time out and about, making do with small packed lunches and purchased meals in the city.

“Kylo,” she protests softly, reaching forward to touch his arm, “I can’t eat that much—I’d…”

He turns to glare at her, his eyes dark and stormy as he nearly orders, “You’ll eat as much as you can. You need to—you’re… You’re too skinny. You need to eat more.”

She stares at him, open-mouthed, and takes the plate he practically shoves at her, unsure of what to do or say to him. She lived in a _desert_ for twelve years—she had to live on whatever rations Unkar felt like doling out that day for the scraps she’d collected…

Did he think she could just… switch to a normal diet like the past twelve years had never happened?

She realizes he probably means well—he’s been nothing but kind to her since he rescued her from Jakku—but she does not do well with being told to do something when she _knows_ it’s futile. She likes wasting large amounts of food even less.

She sulks as they take their seats, and picks at her food. She _is_ hungry, but every bite feels like a chore now that he has pointed out that she is still eating far too little, and her stomach feels like it’ll start convulsing the moment she dares to take a real bite of the undoubtedly delicious food the cooks had prepared for them.

“You’re not eating,” he says gruffly, angrily stabbing a piece of green broccoli on his fork as he glares at her.

“Well, maybe I’m not hungry,” she replies petulantly, tossing down her fork and crossing her arms over her chest, returning his stubborn glare with her own. He leans back in his chair and mimics her stubborn pose, looking quite comical with the fork and broccoli in his hand—she would laugh if she weren’t angry with him.

“But you are,” he points out, raising an eyebrow at her, “I heard your stomach growling earlier.”

“That’s not the point!” She tells him angrily. “You can’t just tell me to _eat_ just like that!”

“Why the Pfassk _not_?” He suddenly bellows, shooting to his feet, toppling his chair with a loud bang that makes her jump and flinch back in her own seat. Her eyes widen in trepidation when he sweeps an arm over his side of the table and sends everything crashing to the floor. “You’re _mine_ — _mine_ to care for! Why can’t you just do as I tell you, Rey?”

She wants to apologize—she _wants_ to understand what it is that is making him positively _boil_ with rage—but she _doesn’t_ and she doesn’t _care_ so much either.

“I’m not your _dog_ ,” she spits back, jumping to her feet as she glares at the tall man before her. “I don’t _need_ you to take care of me and feed me and dress me—I’m a _person_ , Kylo. Start treating me like one, or maybe I will _leave_.”

She doesn’t wait for him to reply, and turns, stomping out of the main area to _her_ bedroom.

She’ll let him stew for a while.

She slams the door shut behind her, and she feels quite childish as she does, but it _helps_. She needs to get rid of this _anger_ and _hurt_ , and slamming that stupid door had helped—partly.

Her anger is gone as quickly as it had risen, and all that’s left now is _hurt_.

She sinks onto the bed, looking down at her shaking hands as she attempts not to cry—she’s barely known him for a month, and she _can’t_ possibly love him this much already. He’s _far_ from the kind of man she had always dreamed of—he’s angry and volatile, and she can sometimes _feel_ the Darkness radiating off of him.

But then there are the good days.

The days where he smiles, and makes _her_ smile, and all seems right in the galaxy.

Those days have always made the bad days seem inconsequential—but this time, she is not so sure. Suddenly, she is not so sure that everything is _okay_ and _easy_.

She curls up on the cold sheets, clutching her pillow as a single tear runs down her cheek.

She loves him.

She’s not sure that’s going to be enough.

She doesn’t realize she has fallen asleep until she startles back into awareness. The bed is dipping behind her, and she doesn’t need to turn to know it’s him. She doesn’t say anything and simply waits until he says something—she was _not_ wrong to be angry with him; she will not apologize for nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, slipping his arm around her waist and drawing her back into his arms. “I love you—and I worry for you. I meant no insult, I just…” She closes her eyes and inhales sharply when his lips press to the back of her neck. “I don’t know how to do this either, Rey. I’m figuring this out with you. I’m _sorry_.”

She is silent for a long time, and contemplates what she has learned in the past month.

Living _with_ someone is a lot harder than living alone, and she supposes he does have very little experience with personal relationships. Maybe it _is_ fair to assume they are both going to make mistakes while trying to figure this out _together_.

Slowly, she slides her hand over the arm he has slung around her waist, until she reaches his hand. She laces their fingers together and squeezes her fingers around his briefly.

“I know,” she whispers, leaning back against his chest and relaxing into his warmth. “I know.”


	6. Chapter 6

#  “The beauty of the unexpected lies within the surprise of the momentum, not only at its tipping point, but also within all the moments waiting.”  
―Akilnathan Logeswaran

**A WEEK LATER**

When she wakes, she is cocooned safely in the circle of Kylo’s strong arms, his chest pressed to her back and his lips resting against the back of her head. The feel of his heated, naked skin against hers is rather intoxicating, and her eyes drift shut once again as she relishes in the relaxed, peaceful silence that permeates their bedchamber.

She had long since abandoned the pretence of having a separate bedroom—even when she began the night in her own room, by herself, by the time the sun rose above the grassy plains of Varykino she would be wrapped in Kylo’s embrace, either in his room, or in hers.

She gravitates towards him regardless of what they are doing, and she has come to realize that he does the same. She had asked him about it once, while curled up together on one of the many sofas in the living area, but the explanation he had given her was long and complicated, and she still barely understands all of it.

Most of it seems to be due to the Force, which had drawn them together as children and was now attempting to ensure they would not be separated again. Kylo called it the Will of the Living Force and, while she doesn’t quite know what that means, it seems reasonable enough to attribute their uncanny connection—mental, emotional and physical—to the Force.

She’s certainly seen Kylo do stranger and more impressive things with the Force.

She has done many stranger things herself—Kylo had insisted on continuing to train her in the ways of the Force, and while she does not entirely agree when he tells her it is the only way she’ll be able to adequately defend herself if needed, she does understand that it is important to him that she learn _how_ to defend herself from another Force User.

She is hardly a fool—a fool would not have been able to build a flight simulator from scraps, after all, nor taught herself to fly—and she knows, logically, that there are many who seek to harm Kylo. Once word of their reunion gets out, it is not unreasonable to think there will be those that will attempt to get to Kylo through her.

With that thought in mind, she had allowed him to show her the basics of lightsaber Forms, and found that, while her memories of her previous tutelage under Luke Skywalker may be gone forever, her body certainly remembered said training.

Kylo had called it muscle memory, she recalls, as he stood pressed up against her back, his fingers curled around her wrists to correct her form where needed. Many of the sequences were reminiscent of the way she had fought back on Jakku, to defend herself and the things she had managed to scavenge from other, less successful scavengers.

It was a source of comfort for both of them, she believes, to find that the things she had learned with him and Luke never truly left her, despite her lack of memories and long absence from the world of all things related to usage of the Force.

She startles from her thoughts when he hums against her, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck as his arms tighten their embrace slightly. “You’re awake early,” he whispers quietly, his voice hoarse with disuse and sleep, rubbing his hand over the soft skin of her abdomen. “I must not have done a very good job if you’re up already.”

His voice is light and teasing, and there is a kind of lightness and happiness to it that she has never heard from him before, and it makes her grin, despite the warm blush that stains her cheeks and the top of her chest.

While the previous night had hardly been the first time they’d slept together, it had been the first time that they’d both relinquished control entirely, allowing their passion for one another to guide them in a rougher coupling than usual, which had lasted well into the night.

There are muscles aching in places she did not know she _had_ muscles, but she would not exchange the memory of Kylo’s touch—gentle and rough at the same time—for _anything_.

She shifts and rolls in his arms so that they are facing each other, and grins at the sight before her. His hair is a mess, sticking up at irregular places and completely flattened on one side, while his lips are still slightly red and swollen from the frantic kisses they had exchanged the previous night. His eyes are still soft and crusted with sleep, but there is a lightness in them that had not been there before, and the sight of him, unburdened and _happy_ , makes her heart clench in her chest.

“Hardly,” she whispers back, keeping her voice equally soft and quiet, reluctant to break the silence of early morning—a peaceful bubble she does not want to leave just yet. “I have no complaints,” she adds, grinning mischievously as she slides her leg up over his and presses herself against him.

Kylo growls under his breath before leaning forward to capture her lips in a sleepy, soft kiss that makes her eyelids flutter shut. His tongue moves languidly against hers and she pushes back against the hand that is lazily stroking up and down her back, eager for more _touch_.

She has just reached up, tangling her fingers in his gloriously messy hair, when the comlink he had left on the floor the previous evening lets out a shrill, loud series of trills and beeps, effectively shattering the hazy illusion of isolation that they had perfected in the past month and a half. She whimpers when Kylo breaks the kiss and utters a few rather creative swear words as he retrieves the comlink from his discarded clothing.

Rey settles back against their pillows as she watches Kylo pull the comlink from his trouser pocket, frowning as he checks the receiver. “General Hux,” he sneers, and she is less than pleased to see his shoulders sag with invisible weight at the mere mention of this General.

“Who is he?” she asks, sitting up and wrapping the sheets around herself loosely.

Kylo glances up at her, his eyebrows furrowed into a displeased frown as he replies, “The bane of my existence. An ambitious little man who is capable of _anything_ to achieve his goals—he always did loathe my attachment to you and my determination to find you. When last we spoke, he accused me of sabotaging the First Order’s goals deliberately to find you.”

“Did you?”

The words fall from her lips before she can stop them, and she regrets them as she speaks them, but the somewhat dark and frustrated glare he gives her is all the answer she needs. She shivers beneath his heated gaze and wonders if she should be concerned about the fact that even the Darkness in his heart makes her own flutter.

“I would have done _anything_ to find you,” he whispers lowly, his voice gravelly and deep. “Fortunately it never did come to the point where I had to choose between the First Order and you.”

Rey bites her lower lip shyly and surreptitiously shifts beneath the sheet in an attempt to relieve the ache that has already begun to build up again low in her belly. Kylo has yet to play the message which General Hux sent him, and she senses he may want— _need_ —the cover of privacy, even though he is clearly loathe to part from her side.

“I’m going to use the ‘fresher,” she announces, quickly making the choice for him. “Perhaps take a bath as well. I do so love Nubian baths—I have a feeling no other bathing houses in the galaxy will be as gratifying as those on Naboo.”

It is not the first time she has declared her undying love for baths— _Nubian_ baths specifically—but she is pleased to see a small, amused smile tugging on Kylo’s lips as he watches her rise from the bed. Baths and showers that use actual water had been a miracle to behold for her when they first arrived on Naboo, and while she still worries it may be a waste of water, she cannot quite resist the lure of being enveloped by heated water, cleansing her body and relaxing tense muscles.

She does not bother covering herself as she crosses the bedroom to the bathroom door. It is not as though he has not seen—and _touched_ —everything before. She can feel his eyes _burning_ into her back, and the rush of _desire_ that pours through her veins makes her grin giddily as she sways her hips as she walks, basking in the adoration in his gaze.

He makes her feel _loved_ and _wanted_ without even trying.

As she shuts the door behind her, she hears the distinct click of the comlink being activated once again, and catches the words, “Kylo Ren, your presence—”

She sighs heavily, pressing her back against the door for a moment as she attempts to shake the feeling of impending doom that is slowly sinking its claws into her psyche.

With a flick of her hand, she turns on the ‘fresher, and though Kylo might scold her later for misuse of the Force, she does not like being pelted with icy drops of water before it warms enough to be comfortable. She waits a few moments until steam begins to billow out from the small cabin, before running her fingers through her tangled locks and stepping beneath the warm cascade of water.

Regardless of the bad feeling she has, she doesn’t need to listen to the message Kylo received to know their carefree, peaceful days in the Nubian Lake District are over.

She should have known it wouldn’t last.

Good things never seem to.

.

.

.

She was, of course, right.

Upon exciting the ‘fresher, she found Kylo pacing the hardwood floors agitatedly, his clothes on the bed in a large, untidy pile and the wardrobes haphazardly opened and emptied. She can see the gowns he had seamstresses make for her still hanging neatly in the large wardrobe, and her woollen trousers and tunics are still neatly folded in the open drawers.

She has a feeling she is _not_ going to like the conversation ahead of them.

“When do we leave?” she asks, resignation colouring her tone as she wraps the warm, fluffy towel around her chest more securely.

His head snaps up sharply and he stares at her, and she's almost surprised that she's actually managed to startle him, for once—he is usually so attuned to feeling her presence in the Force that he feels her coming long before she even reached him. Instead of glee at being able to surprise him, though, she feels worry and apprehension, because he would not be distracted by anything less than a very serious subject, and she fears what it'll mean for their life together.

She had grown used to the easy, uncomplicated life on Naboo too easily and too readily. After years of fighting and struggling for survival, she had welcomed Kylo's attempts to care for her, despite a few _hiccups_ —she is, after all, not _entirely_ used to being taken care of just yet.

She _is_ , however, trying to get used to it—she knows Kylo likes taking care of her, and it _is_ rather nice.

“ _We_ aren’t going anywhere,” he replies sternly, in the same tone of voice he uses when instructing her to do a training exercise. “ _I_ am being called back to the _Finalizer_ for a mission of great importance to the Supreme Leader. _You_ will stay here, where you’ll be safe.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

Though she’s certain he is only trying to reassure her— _soothe_ her, even—his words awaken a rage within her that she cannot quell, and she doesn’t _want_ to quell. He is treating her as though she is nothing but a fragile flower in a golden cage again, and she’s never wanted to _punch_ him as badly as she does now. “ _No_!” she hollers, stomping forward to poke her finger in his chest angrily. “You don’t get to make that decision for me! _I am not your kriffing_ pet _, Kylo_!”

She nearly screams in aggravation, all of her frustration and anger and fear choosing that particular moment to pour out of her, leaving a shivering, smoldering mess of emotions that she cannot process.  

“I need you _safe_ ,” Kylo asserts, and the look of pure desperation in his eyes throws her, dousing the flames of her incendiary rage. It is not until she takes a breath, pressing her hands flat against his chest, that she realizes how _pale_ he is, and just how _heartbroken_ he looks in the face of her anger.

“Kylo,” she whispers sadly, tiptoeing to press her hand to his cheek—her heart _aches_ when he leans into her touch with such haste and desperation that it is as though he is afraid it is the last time he’d be able to relish in the feel of her skin on his.

He is _afraid_.

“You’re not leaving me for my own good again,” she tells him sternly, pressing her fingers into his cheek insistently until he looks at her again. “I _know_ you mean well, and I _love_ you for it, but it is not happening again. Where you go, I go. Okay?”

He remains silent, but nods slowly anyway.

She offers him a tight smile before catching his hand in hers and drawing him back to the bed. She sits down, and then tugs on his hand until he sits with her, curling himself around her as he does. She knows he fears losing her again, and she cannot fault him for it. The trauma of being forcibly separated years before has clearly not healed as well as they had thought, and she can feel him slipping away from her.

Their connection, while still palpable and strong, feels fainter and duller than it had when they woke in each other’s arms only hours ago.

“Together, Kylo,” she whispers as she rests her forehead against his shoulder. “We are in this together. I don’t want to lose you anymore than you want to lose me. I love you,” she continues in a strong, yet soft tone, “We both have lost so many people already—” She looks up at him with tear-filled blue eyes, and shakes her head. “I _cannot_ lose you, too.” Her fingers curl around his as she whispers, “I would not survive if I did. I _need_ you.”

He smiles sadly and presses a kiss to her hair, squeezing her hand tightly. “I do not wish to lose you either, my Rey, but… Life on the Finalizer is far from the simplicity of Naboo. I’d hoped to keep you safe from the intricacies of First Order politics and men such as General Hux. Unfortunately, the Finalizer will be awash with ambitious little men attempting to kiss Lord Snoke’s arse to get ahead in life, and I fear what they may attempt to do to you if they saw personal gain in harming you.”

Rey snorts—he chuckles a little—and punches his arm softly. “I don’t care as long as you’re there. I can handle pathetic little men just fine.”

Kylo says nothing, but slides his arms around her and tugs her against his chest. Her eyes flutter shut and she willingly leans into the warm comfort his arms provide, relishing the final moments of peace they’ll have on Naboo. They sit in silence, curled in each other’s arms, for a little while longer before she reluctantly sits up again and runs her hand through her damp, wavy hair.

“I guess we better start packing, then.”

.

.

.

**THREE DAYS LATER**

The leather of Kylo’s gloves is cold against her skin, and she is unused to seeing him wearing the dark robes and heavy boots he had worn on the day he found her on Jakku—on Naboo, he had been dressed casually, in simple breeches and tunics.

His mask lays unused at their feet, and their hands are clasped together tightly as they stand near the shuttle’s ramp, savouring their final private moments before Kylo will have to slip back into the role of the stern, emotionless Master of the Knights of Ren.

She’s never seen him in the role, but she has a suspicion it’ll be difficult to watch.

However, it is the role they had devised for _her_ that worries her. Kylo had dressed her in a flowing, pale blue dress made of the finest Nubian silk, with pearl straps over her shoulders and arms and thin blue straps that run criss-cross over her otherwise exposed back. He had also asked her to allow one of the hairdressers on Naboo to braid her hair up into an impossible, yet elegant, up-do that makes it look as though she has _far_ longer hair than she really does.

He had even gifted her with a necklace crusted with Arkanian diamonds.

He had draped a thick, midnight blue, velvet cloak over her shoulders, to shield her from the chill of open space, and she desperately wishes she could curl up beneath the luxurious fabric and hide away from the rest of the galaxy for a little while longer—so she would not have to pretend to be something she is _not_ , even though it is a role she must play for her own protection.

It had been Kylo’s idea to play into the image General Hux had already formed of her—a defenceless, helpless little girl in need of Kylo Ren’s protection.

A pretty little flower to warm his bed.

He would continue her training, of course, in the privacy of their chambers, so that she would _never_ be caught unawares, and that her attackers—if there were any— _would_ be. It is, though deceptive and entirely against her nature, a good plan, and she can see the wisdom in allowing their potential enemies aboard the Finalizer to believe she’s naught but a weak, vain little girl.

For all they know, she _is._

They had even asked Esmé, the young housekeeper who had taken a liking to Rey during their stay at Varykino, to pose as Rey’s handmaiden for the time being, to further the illusion. The other woman is likely still in the cockpit, chatting with the pilot, as she had been when Rey left the passenger seat to find Kylo, who had been holed up somewhere in the back the whole time.

_“Landing procedure complete. Doors opening in 60 seconds.”_

Their pilot’s tinny voice rings through the comm unit on their right, and Rey tightens her fingers around Kylo’s briefly. While she may not be afraid of anyone on board the _Finalizer_ , she _is_ smart enough to know that there will be dangers lurking around every corner if she is not careful.

Kylo’s lips part, as if readying himself to speak. He is about to shatter the moment by speaking, and it makes her feel a little nauseated at the thought. She just wants to preserve their last bit of peace for as long as she can, so she raises her hand and brushes the pads of her fingers against his lower lip gently. “Shhh,” she whispers, “Don’t talk. Let’s just… Let’s just get this over with as soon as possible, so we can be _alone_ again as soon as possible.”

He nods silently, his eyes dark and stormy, though she can tell he understands.

Everything that needed to be said has been said.

She dimples up at him, tiptoeing so she can press a chaste kiss to his cheek, blushing prettily when he winks at her before offering her his arm and escorting her towards the ramp, which hisses open as they approach it. “You _owe_ me,” she tells him in a whisper, shooting a side-along glance towards him. “For making me wear a _dress_.”

She spits the word as though it is poison on her lips and he chuckles, raising their hands to his lips to press a soft kiss to the back of her hand. “Whatever you want, Rey,” he grins. “Whatever you want.”

After speaking, he reaches down and picks up his mask, tugging it on and clicking it into place.

As much as she loathes being unable to see his face, she has to admit that the mask succeeds in intimidating everyone who lays eyes on him. Being unable to read his facial expression or catch a twinge of emotion in his voice is unnerving even for her, and she has an uncanny connection with him that sometimes feels like she can read his mind.

As the ramp lowers and finally touches the polished durasteel floor, she sees a small contingent of Stormtroopers waiting for them, preceded by a tall, slim man with fiery red locks, wearing a dark, immaculate uniform—an officer. She trails her eyes over the insignia on his shoulder, taking in the two black and white horizontal stripes.

Ah.

A General, then.

Perhaps even the General that had sent the message that summoned Kylo back to this ship—Hux.

She feels Kylo stiffen and curse beside her before he shakes himself and draws her forward as he stomps down the ramp, his footsteps clunking hollowly on the metal ramp.

Yes.

Definitely _that_ General.

She takes care to school her expression, but she can’t quite hide the _awe_ that crosses her face when she takes in the loading bay of the Finalizer. She’s been in quite a few Star Destroyers, explored every nook and cranny in search of parts to trade for rations, but those had all been decades old, and damaged from the many years of scavenging and their initial crash.

Not to mention that they’d been _empty_.

She’s never seen an operational Star Destroyer, and it’s astonishing to see it in all its glory.

There are dozens of Stormtroopers, technicians, officers, and pilots moving around the massive space, and she can see at least fifty TIE-fighters, from bombers to interceptors, and other ships, from _Upsilon_ -class command shuttles to Atmospheric Assault Landers, docked.

She eyes the gleaming TIE-fighters and draws her lower lip between her teeth to keep from squealing aloud—what she wouldn’t give to be allowed to _fly_ one of those.

Maybe Kylo could make that happen for her at some point.

She makes a small mental note to ask him when they’ve been shown to the privacy of their chambers as they slow to a stop before the ginger-haired general.

“General Hux,” Kylo states coolly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

The General raises a single eyebrow and replies, “The Supreme Leader has requested your presence immediately upon your arrival. He sent me to ensure you would not…” He eyes Rey briefly, and she has to focus on not shivering beneath his calculating gaze. “… _dawdle_ ,” he finishes, flicking his gaze back over to Kylo.

Rey swallows thickly, clenching her fingers on Kylo’s arm at the thought of having to navigate her way through the ship and social interactions without Kylo by her side to steer her in the right direction.

She fears she may let on she’s more than she appears to be within seconds of opening her mouth.

“I would, of course,” Hux adds, his pale green eyes locked upon Rey, “be more than happy to arrange an escort for your _lady_ to the chambers that have been prepared for the both of you.” The look in his eyes is calculating and cold, and it sends shivers of apprehension down her spine. She understands with sudden clarity why Kylo would want this man to underestimate her—he seems more than capable of orchestrating her demise if he so chose.

“Oh, no,” she whimpers, clutching at Kylo’s arm while widening her eyes for a touch of dramatic effect. “You promised we wouldn’t be apart any longer—that you would be by my side.” There is enough truth in her words to deceive even the cleverest man into believing she’s a delicate little girl and, though it makes her want to sneer, she manages to keep her expression exactly as she needs it to be.

 _Distraught_ and _apprehensive_ in the face of having to leave Kylo.

“That I did,” Kylo’s metallic, impersonal voice filters through the mask. “That I did.” He turns to Hux again, and Rey does not need to be able to see his face to know he’s sneering at the man. “I shall gladly see my Rey to our chambers myself before I report to the Supreme Leader.”

Hux glares at her before returning his attention to Kylo and demanding, “Surely you wouldn’t want to keep Lord Snoke waiting, Ren? You know how _impatient_ he gets.”

The threat in his words is clear, and Rey feels Kylo stiffen slightly beside her as she recalls the last time she had seen Kylo return after a meeting with an entirely displeased Snoke—he’d been hurt and very nearly broken and she’d do anything to keep such pain from being inflicted on him again. “I would hate to cause trouble,” she speaks demurely, blinking up at Kylo and Hux with wide, innocent eyes.

“Perhaps you should go immediately—I’m sure the General would be more than happy to assure I reached our quarters safely _himself_. Won’t you, General?”

She barely manages to suppress a grin when a tiny muscle beneath Hux’s right eye twitches, before he manages to plaster what she supposes must be a pleasant smile on his face and inclines his head towards her. “Of course, it would be an _honor_ to see to your safety, milady. After all the resources spent on locating you and ensuring your health and survival, it would be _most_ inconvenient if something _unpleasant_ were to befall you now.”

She smiles pleasantly at him, as though she didn’t quite catch the threat behind his polite words, and turns to Kylo, tiptoeing to press a kiss to the side of his mask, its chrome cool beneath her lips. “Hurry back to me, my love,” she swoons deliberately, forcing herself not to wrinkle her nose in disgust at the blatant simpering _devotion_ in her own voice. “I shall miss you every moment we are parted.”

She senses a bit of bemusement from him while he nods and then steps back, chancing one more look in her direction before he goes stomping off to a small corridor at the back of the loading bay.

Rey suppresses the irrational urge to hurry after him, to never leave his side—she is _not_ some weakling girl that feels the need to cling to her lover constantly—and plasters another smile upon her lips as she turns back to Hux.

“My handmaiden is waiting inside the shuttle with our luggage,” she tells him nonchalantly, waving her hand towards the shuttle vaguely. “I assume you will have someone take care of that?”

Hux clenches his jaw, but nods nonetheless and turns to two of the Stormtroopers that stand beside him. “FN-2003, FN-2187, escort Lady Rey’s handmaiden and luggage to the chambers that have been prepared for her in Lord Ren’s level of the Officer’s wing.”

“Yes sir,” one of the troopers replies, before they stomp forward in practised synchronism and enter the shuttle she and Kylo had just exited. 

She smiles pleasantly when Hux steps forward, offering her his arm in a rather pathetic attempt to fool her into thinking of him as she would of any politician or aristocrat on Naboo—or Corellia, where Kylo had supposedly _found_ her, residing with a wealthy family who had all but adopted her. Even if she were the airheaded girl he takes her for, the look on his face would give him away.

It is a strange mix of derision and curiosity, and she is unsure what to think of it—of _him_.

“I took the liberty to have double officer suites prepared for you and Lord Ren,” the man offers with a generous smile. “I did not wish to presume about the nature of your relationship, so both bedrooms are fully prepared and stocked.”

Rey struggles to keep a straight face, and refuses to look at the General as he leads her through the brightly lit corridors with gleaming durasteel walls.

“That is very kind of you, General,” she replies, forcing her lips to curl up into a grateful smile as she adds, “I’m sure Esmé, my handmaiden, will appreciate the possibility of staying in our chambers as well, in order to better fulfil her daily duties.”

She deliberately does not offer up more of an explanation, and instead prattles on about leaving her lovely—and wholly imaginary—family back on Corellia, and how she hopes she’ll be allowed to visit them soon. She can tell she is irritating the General with her nonsensical chatter, but she is a bit wary of allowing him to open another line of questioning.

Besides, it feels like a far easier option to annoy the man than to intrigue him.

The man may be a nuisance, but he is no fool, and she will have to think carefully about what she says to him and how she says it while she is here.

After a few minutes though, she falls silent as they pass a large window, providing her with a rather breath-taking view of the Finalizer’s bridge tower and the millions of pinpricks of light that pierce the eternal darkness of space. “Woah,” she breathes, and she doesn’t even realize they’ve slowed to a stop until her hand falls from Hux’s arm and she steps closer to the window.

“Ah yes,” Hux says smugly as he steps up beside her. “It is a rather impressive view, is it not?”

“It’s amazing,” she replies breathlessly, sweeping her gaze over the familiar, yet different design of the Star Destroyer. It takes her a moment to realize why the view before her is so different from the Star Destroyers she’s used to, and before she can control herself, she blurts, “The bridge tower is far lower than it was on Imperial-era Destroyers. It looks much better protected too—are those ion-cannons?”

The moment the words fall from her lips she knows she’s made a mistake. She can feel Hux’s gaze burning into the side of her face, and she scolds herself silently before turning towards him with a bright smile. “My adoptive father was quite interested in ships and things like that. I suppose some of the things he spoke of at the dinner table stuck with me.”

Hux’s eyes are narrowed in thoughtful consideration, and for a long moment he does naught but stare at her, making her insides crawl uncomfortably. “Yes,” he finally says, “they must have. Shall we continue?” She does not quite exhale in relief, but her tense muscles relax just a little as she offers him a small nod and takes his proffered arm once again, allowing him to lead her away from the mesmerizing view.

“The family that took you in,” Hux speaks with carefully structured nonchalance, “I do not believe you mentioned their name… Nor where they resided. It is quite curious that Lord Ren has been frequenting Corellia for missions for nearly ten years without sensing you, is it not?”

Her smile slips from her lips before she can stop it, and she stiffens slightly before she can force herself to relax once again. “Yes,” she says hoarsely, blinking rapidly a few times. “Our separation would have been so much shorter had we been in the same place sooner.” She swallows thickly, because the truth of those words is painful still, even after the time they had spent reacquainting on Naboo—her body may have mostly recovered from her life on Jakku, but the memories are far from gone.

“My family’s name is Antilles, and we resided mainly in Coronet,” she tells him in a soft, deliberately sad tone. “But we travelled to their estate in the hills for many months at a time, too. I suppose we must have missed each other by no more than a few miles several times.”

Before she is forced to suffer through more awkward, tense conversation with the General, he slows to a stop once again, in front of a rather non-descript durasteel door with a fingerprint panel instead of a door handle. “These are the chambers we readied for you and Lord Ren,” Hux tells her in a steely voice that brokers no room for questions or arguments—not that she has any. “You will have to submit your fingerprints in order to program them into the system. For now, you will need to stay with Lord Ren or myself to gain access to your quarters.”

As he speaks, he tugs off one of his gloves and presses his hand onto the panel, which processes his prints with a soft whirr and then blinks green as the door slides open.

“Thank you for the escort, General,” she tells him politely, stepping inside only to freeze on the doorstep when she realizes Kylo is already inside, standing tall and silent in the middle of the room, his anger and confusion simmering through the Force.

“Ah, Ren,” Hux smirks, “I assume I’ll see you on the Bridge for your debrief soon?”

Kylo remains silent, and she can tell it unnerves Hux as much as it unnerves her, because Kylo is always _anything_ but silent.

She offers Hux another polite, tight smile before pressing the button that shuts the door, eager to get Kylo alone to figure out what happened to make him react like this. Kylo is still standing in the middle of the living area, seemingly lost in his thoughts, and she wonders briefly, worriedly, if his short meeting with Snoke had gone well.

They’d known Snoke would know about her Force Sensitivity, and it had been a calculated risk to portray her as a delicate dame to the ancient Force User as well—she hopes the ruse stuck.

She heaves a soft sigh before taking Kylo’s hand in hers and drawing him to the bedchamber, shoving him down on the bed gently. Her heart clenches with worry when he still does not speak, and she sighs again, moving to stand between his legs as she removes his mask, tossing it onto the floor carelessly and sliding her fingers into his ridiculously soft hair.

“You know,” she drawls playfully, tugging on the strand of hair that has somehow wound its way around her index finger in an attempt to snap him from his odd mood. “This is far from what I imagined exploring our new bedroom would be like.”

His head snaps up—because _of course_ a thinly veiled innuendo would get his attention—and he grins toothily, his gloved hands moving up to rest on her silk-clad hips. “Well, by all means, my love,” he practically growls, and _kriff_ her if she doesn’t shiver at the possessive _hunger_ and _desire_ in his tone. “Feel free to show me what you had in mind.”

She doesn’t resist when he pulls her into a hungry kiss, hitching up the skirts of her dress as he drags her onto his lap. His arm slides around her waist, and suddenly they’re pressed together, chest-to-chest, and his hand is tangling in her hair, pulling it from its beautiful updo and holding her in place as he plunders her mouth.

She tries to pour everything she can’t say to him, everything she’s still afraid of, in the kiss, her fingers desperately tugging on his hair because she _needs_ him, and he needs to be _closer_.

She loses all concept of time as they kiss—because nothing could matter but the feel of his body against hers and his lips moving with hers and his hands touching her _everywhere_ at once. She gasps when their lips finally part and she realizes they’ve shifted at some point during the kiss, and she is now lying on her back on the bed with Kylo cradled between her thighs, her chest heaving as she attempts to catch her breath, his lips hovering less than an inch above her own.

It takes her another moment to realize his cloak and outer robe are now pooled on the floor beside the bed along with her own cloak, while her gown is bunched up around her waist. Kylo’s fingers are splayed out on her stomach, and her heart squeezes as heat pools in her stomach.

“I do believe I like the way your mind works,” Kylo chuckles against her lips, before wiggling down her body a little to rest his head against her chest.

Rey smiles happily, playing with his hair idly as she stares up at the ceiling, thoughts swirling through her mind at dizzying speeds. “Are you okay?” She asks after a short silence, softly tugging on his hair to get him to look up at her.

He props his head up on his hand and smiles up at her—her heart does _not_ skip a beat—and his eyes are sparkling brightly despite the lingering darkness. “I’m fine. Why would I not be?”

She shrugs, playing with the floppy little piece of hair that keeps falling onto his forehead. “You seemed pretty out of it earlier,” she says casually, “and you have been… _distant_ since we decided to leave Naboo. When you came back and didn’t speak to me, I was worried Snoke hurt you again.”

He chuckles darkly and leans down again, pressing a kiss against the underside of her silk-covered breast. “I was lost in thought,” he admits reluctantly. “Snoke tried to order me to manipulate you into staying by my side always, as if I could—the way he spoke of you—” He breaks off and she can _feel_ his rage shimmer in the Force, tainting the atmosphere in the room. 

She shivers uncomfortably, unsure of exactly _what_ Snoke had tried to order him to do, and quite certain she doesn’t really _want_ to know either. Before she can think of an appropriate response to the revelation of Snoke’s deception—if there ever was one at all—Kylo has leaned up again to press his lips to hers, his desperation to keep her safe and happy bleeding through the Force into her mind.

She sighs against his lips and slides her arms up and around his shoulders as he grinds his hips into hers.

The friction is _delicious_ , and she gasps when he repeats the motion, tangling her fingers in his hair as she slides her legs up over his to curl around his waist. They kiss with increasing passion and desperation for a few more moments before Kylo suddenly tears himself away from her, shaking his head as he mutters to himself.

“Kylo?” She asks worriedly as she props herself up, surreptitiously adjusting the skirts of her dress so that they cover her upper thighs once again. “What’s wrong?”

“We can’t—” He breaks off and runs his hands through his hair, a nervous gesture she has never seen him perform before, and the vulnerability in his expression makes her stomach clench with worry. “We can’t do _that_ right now,” he finally finishes, gesturing towards her reclining form on the bed.

She frowns in confusion; unsure if she should be insulted or hurt by the rejection, or worried about the conflict within his own mind that is clearly tearing him apart. “Why not?” she demands confusedly, curling her legs beneath her as she arranges the silk skirts to cover her. “Is this—did I do something?”

“No,” he shakes his head again and steps forward, gently touching his hand to her cheek. “You didn’t.”

She leans into his touch and blinks up at him, waiting for him to give her a plausible explanation as to why they suddenly aren’t allowed to sleep together anymore.

He heaves a heavy sigh and lowers his body to sit on the bed in front of her, sliding his hand down her arm until he can lace their fingers together again. “You don’t have a birth control implant,” he states matter-of-factly. “A rather stupid oversight on my part, I admit. There is hardly room for a child in our lives now, nor do I think either of us are ready for such responsibility.”

Rey stares at him as she attempts to grasp the meaning of his words—her head spins a little, and she feels foolish for not considering the option of getting pregnant before.

It’s not like she doesn’t know how the human reproductive system works.

“Oh,” she finally manages. “Right. I suppose I’ll… I’ll have to go to the med bay in the morning then.”

Kylo nods stiffly, and squeezes her hand tightly. “I think that would be best. I’m sorry I didn’t… I should have thought of this sooner. Before we—”

She cuts him off, pressing her fingers to his lips again as she offers him a shaky smile. “It’s not your fault. I’m a big girl, and I should have thought of such things myself, before we engaged in any sort of physical relationship.” She waits until he nods, though reluctantly, and then replaces her fingers with her lips, pressing a soft, short kiss against his lips before she gets to her feet and gathers her cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders again.

“I am going to make sure Esmé settled in alright,” she tells him breezily. “I’ll see you here for dinner.”

She doesn’t wait for a reply before leaving the room, her mind awash with confused thoughts and conflicting emotions, and she can already tell that life aboard the Finalizer is going to be far more difficult than she had ever thought it would be.  

.

.

.

She sits on the cold, metal table covered by a pale paper sheet, wringing her hands together as she waits for the medical droid to return with the forms she’d filled out. She’s unsure of the usual protocol when it comes to these medical check-ups, but having to wait for over half an hour for simple test results cannot be a regular occurrence, can it?

All she had asked for was a birth control chip.

Surely that wasn’t such a complicated request?

She bites her lip and wiggles uncomfortably on the table as the door before her hisses open once again, and a tall, dark-haired human male enters the room, followed closely by the medical droid that had taken her information and request earlier.

“Hello, Lady Rey,” the man nods curtly, his expression shuttered and distant as he studies the chart the medical droid holds out for him. She wonders if he is as distant with all of his patients, or if her attachment to Kylo Ren makes her special, somehow.

Something— _someone_ —to be feared.

“I am doctor Goran,” he introduces himself. “I see here that you asked for a birth control chip with standard replacement every six months.”

“Yes,” she nods slowly, tilting her head to the side as she studies the man. “Is there a problem?”

The man looks up, and she is startled to see a small smile on his lips. “No,” he replies in a calm, steady voice. “Not a problem. In fact, I believe this is a joyous occasion for most couples.”

She eyes him warily, tired and _frustrated_ as she exclaims, “What are you _talking_ about?!”

He raises an eyebrow at her, but doesn’t comment on her rather rude outburst. “The birth control implant would have no effect,” he says simply. “You are already pregnant. Congratulations.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait on this, I got distracted writing my other WIP's and life got in the way...  
> Anyway, anyone who's still reading, you're the best, I love you all! :D
> 
> Have an extra-long chapter to make up for the loooooong wait :D Loads happens in here.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to Meaghan for being the best and pushiest beta ever! Love you, darling!
> 
> Please leave a comment! 
> 
> Love,  
> Annaelle


	7. Chapter 7

# “You never understand life until it grows inside of you.”  
—Sandra C. Kassis

The walls on the _Finalizer_ are all the same—polished durasteel lit by clinical, bright lights with service stations every couple of feet and control access panels in every other corridor. Her mind feels uncannily dazed, her thoughts are slippery and elusive, and she cannot focus on one single thing long enough to process what she had been told in the med bay.

She is still clutching the datapad containing all information about her _condition_ tightly, and she’s not entirely sure _where_ she is now, nor _how_ she can go back to the quarters she shares with Kylo—she’s fairly certain she was supposed to wait for another trooper to escort her back, but her memories of leaving the med bay are fuzzy, and she can’t even recall what she said, if anything, to the doctor on her way out.

Regardless of all that, she is not even sure that she _wants_ to go back to their quarters right now. As far as she knows, Esmé is still waiting for her return, and she will undoubtedly ask what happened at the appointment. Rey is just not _ready_ to speak the words aloud.

She doesn’t think she _believes_ it just yet.

_“You are already pregnant. Congratulations.”_

The doctor had spoken the words so casually, so matter-of-factly, as though he hadn’t just uprooted her entire life and forced her to stop to adjust every plan, no matter how vague, she had made for the future. She feels like her entire life had screeched to an absolute standstill the moment the words had fallen from the doctors lips, and she is unsure where to go from here.

It feels so _unreal_.

She’s too—she—she’s too _young_.

She cannot be a mother—she doesn’t know anything about children or raising them—she never even _had_ real, good parents, for Force’s sake! Luke hardly counts, and she recalls from Kylo’s memories that her own parents had tried to kill her in fear of her Force Sensitivity.

She exhales shakily and sags against the wall, pressing a fist against her belly as she squeezes her eyes shut against the treacherous tears that burn in her eyes.

What if she turns out like her parents?

Maybe being a bad parent is hereditary and she’ll end up hurting her child or abandoning them as she was abandoned and Kylo will hate her—

She takes another deep, shuddering breath and chokes, her heart pounding rapidly and a cold chill running down her spine as she desperately attempts to steady her breathing. She fails miserably, and all she can think is that she was so _stupid_ to forget the chip, and that Kylo was _right_ , neither of them are _ready_ for a child in their lives, and it’s _so_ irresponsible to bring a child into the mix when she’s not even sure what their future would look like—

 _Kylo_.

She groans, another tear slipping down her cheek as she considers having to _tell_ him of her condition, of the plans that they’ll have to alter—what if he _hates_ her?

What if he _does_ want the child but he’ll no longer love her?

This is all _her_ fault—she should have _known_ better—she’s smarter than this and she just—

Her knees give out from beneath her and she crumples against the wall, the datapad clattering to the floor as she wraps her arms around herself, shuddering with desperate sobs as she attempts to hold herself together, to pull the broken pieces of her heart back together and to steel herself for Kylo’s inevitable _anger_ and _rejection_ —she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to _live_ with the knowledge that the only man she’s ever loved and trusted _hates_ her, but she’ll have to—

Because Kylo doesn’t _want_ this.

He’s told her so, and he’s _right_ and she doesn’t know _how_ to tell him and _lose_ him.

_He’ll probably want her to get rid of it._

The thought catches her off guard, and she curls her hand over her still-flat belly protectively before she even realizes she’s moved, surprising herself with the ferocious _anger_ that wells up from deep within her at the thought of Kylo demanding she terminate the pregnancy.

Instead of the shocked haze that had been clouding her mind since the moment she’d received the news, all she feels now in single-minded _focus_ and _determination._

No.

She won’t—their baby is _innocent_ , and _precious_ and she won’t let _anyone_ hurt it.

Including Kylo.

The synchronised stomp of Stormtrooper boots on the durasteel floor snaps her from her anger and shock-induced haze for a moment, and she looks up to see a squadron of four troopers approach her, two carrying blasters while the other two seem to be armed with cleaning supplies.

It is an odd sight, and she must admit that she had never wondered about mundane tasks such as sanitation and cooking, though they are very obviously necessary aboard a Starfighter this size.

She clumsily gets to her feet, brushing non-existent specks of dust and dirt off her full skirts and picking up the datapad she’d dropped. She hopes that the make up Esmé had helped her apply hasn't left dirty tear streaks across her cheeks, but straightens her back nonetheless and nods towards the troopers.

One of them lingers, turning towards her hesitantly before he offers, “Are you lost, Lady Rey? I could show you back to your quarters if you like.”

She is slightly startled to be recognised, but quickly shakes said surprise—there can't be that many women dressed in expensive Nubian silk gowns roaming about the _Finalizer_ , so it seems like a reasonable assumption.

It does make her wonder, though, if everyone had been alerted of her arrival—would there have been a memo? The idea is almost ludicrous, and she nearly snorts as she tries to imagine what the short missive would have said.

_Lord Ren is bringing his new girlfriend to the ship. Everyone be nice to her and don't flirt with her or he’ll kill you._

He takes a few steps closer, effectively shaking her from her musings. She ignores the instinct to back away from his imposing figure, because while he is not nearly as tall as Kylo, he is still taller than her, broad-shouldered and clothed in typical plastoid white armour, though he is not carrying a blaster, but a long, rectangular crate filled with cleaning supplies and stained rags.

The fact that she cannot see his face unnerves her, and she doesn’t quite know what to do.

Looking at someone’s eyes had always been a reliable way to discern their intentions.

Being unable to see this trooper’s eyes is _terrifying_ , and memories of her previous run-ins with Stormtroopers flash through her mind as the trooper hands the crate to one of the other three troopers and urges them to continue their duties.

The last time she’d been faced with a squadron of Stormtroopers by herself had been on Jakku, when she was fourteen, and she’d been scavenging on her own for about a year. She’d heard stories, of course, about Stormtroopers that came to gather all intelligence from the crashed Star Destroyers, and had received warnings from older, more experienced scavengers to just _give_ the troopers what they wanted in order to avoid being shot for being difficult.

She knows, now, that she should have listened to them.

There’d been four stormtroopers and one officer, dressed in a crisp, pressed uniform and pale, creamy skin that looked wildly out of place between the shabby tents and suntanned, sand-stained faces of Niima Outpost. She’d watched several of the scavengers turn over the things they had collected that day for inspection, and she’d seen the way the Stormtroopers carelessly handled the parts, as though they were worthless and it didn’t really matter whether or not they were broken when they were returned to the scavengers.

She remembers thinking bitterly that those troopers probably never had to rely on what they could collect in order to have food and water—in order to _survive_.

The parts she had collected that day were valuable and she _knew_ she could get at least two whole portions for them—after all, she had managed to climb up into the bridge tower of one of the only fully intact Star Destroyers on Jakku’s sandy surface.

The bridge tower had remained mostly intact, untouched by scavengers, because the ship had crashed amidst the Sinking Fields—no one but the most daring and smallest, lightest scavengers attempted to venture into that part of the desert, and many of those that did never returned at all.

But Rey _did_ , and she worked _hard_ to get her hands on the board computer, several undamaged components of the hyperdrive and several other parts, and she’d refused to just _let_ those bucket brains take it all without a fight. She hadn’t _cared_ that the board computer she’d salvaged may contain information that would aid the First Order—she’d just wanted to _eat_.

So, when the officer and troopers had demanded she hand over the computer, she’d refused.

Her refusal had resulted in one of the most brutal beatings in her entire life, and the threat of something far worse before one of the other female scavengers had intervened and taken that part of Rey’s _punishment_ upon herself.

She's almost certain the officer only allowed it because the woman was _experienced_ in _servicing_ the First Order’s brave men—at least that's what she heard later on.

Sometimes, when she closes her eyes, she can still see the smug satisfaction on the officer’s face, and hear the older woman’s cries of pain as the troopers dragged her to one of the tents.

“Ma’am?”

Rey is snapped from her thoughts by the Stormtrooper that offered to walk her back to her room, and she exhales sharply when she realizes they’re now _alone_ , and she’s _unarmed_ and she doesn’t know if she can trust this trooper, despite the air of familiarity that surrounds them both.

She eyes him nervously, unnerved by the way the Force _hums_ around him, not unlike it does around Kylo—only Kylo’s presence is much _louder_ and _brighter_ and unequivocally tied to hers in a way that this trooper isn’t. She tilts her head to the side and studies him, attempting to discern _anything_ but the way his presence feels in the Force that is _different_ about him—

But there is nothing.

His armour is pristinely white and the black of his gloves is deep and dark and absolutely flawless, and he looks _just_ like the four troopers that held her down and beat her so badly she couldn’t even move for a week—that caused her to go without food for nearly ten days because she was too badly hurt to go scavenging. She would have _died_ if not for a few of the older women taking pity on her, taking care of her and sharing their rations with her.

But he doesn’t _feel_ like they had.

There’s an undercurrent of sincerity and kindness to him, and it almost feels like the Force is pushing her towards him, towards _knowing_ him.

“I’m sorry,” she finally says, clutching the datapad in her hands as though it were a lifeline. “Yes, that would be nice. I’m afraid I got lost after leaving the med bay—maybe I was supposed to wait for someone to take me back to my rooms there, but…” She trails off and shakes her head.

“Never mind. Let’s just start walking.” She smiles at the trooper, still a little wary of the mask’s blank expression and wondering who is hiding behind that white plastoid. “Do you have a name?”

“My designation is FN-2187, ma’am,” the trooper replies unperturbedly, marching on beside her. He holds himself stiffly, arms tucked in close to his sides and back ramrod straight—he looks like he’d literally rather be _anywhere_ but with her, and that only serves to confuse her further.

He _had_ been the one to approach her, hadn’t he?

"So," she drawls, pressing the datapad against her stomach as she glances at the tall trooper. "I know this may be a little stupid, but I never really thought about who worked sanitation on a ship like this." She bites her lip and shrugs, “I guess I never really expected Stormtroopers to do it.”

They slow to a stop in front of one of the blast doors, and she waits as he enters the code that will allow them access to the three lower levels of the ship. He shifts uncomfortably as they wait until his code is approved and the door hisses open, before he finally replies, “It is my duty to serve the First Order in any capacity my superiors see fit, despite my own… _preferences_.”

The door hisses open, and they step through, though Rey is preoccupied by the conundrum the trooper next to her provides—he is fascinating enough that she shelves the issue of her _pregnancy_ for later, when she doesn’t have FN-2187 right there next to her.

“What _would_ you have preferred then?”

She phrases the question carefully, because he seems to be a little skittish, and she’s actually genuinely curious—she’s never had a conversation with a Stormtrooper that went beyond tossing insults at one another, and she knows little to nothing about what _makes_ a Stormtrooper.

She has no idea how they are chosen, or how they sign up for the training programme—or even _why_ they would—nor what their training entails.

“Nothing, Ma’am,” FN-2187 replies stiffly. “I apologize for speaking out of turn.”

She eyes him warily, but allows him the moment he clearly needs to compose himself. Instead, she looks down at the datapad she still carries and swallows thickly as she scrolls through a few of the pages of reading material on human pregnancy while they walk.

“Congratulations.”

Her head snaps up and she stares at FN-2187, who tilts his head down, almost as though he wants to hide a blush on his cheeks—one that she can’t see anyway due to the white mask. “I saw—I mean I—it was—” He stutters nervously, gesturing towards the datapad. “I recognized the introduction page. I've always been fascinated by medicine, so I—I used to read a lot."

She offers him a tight smile before hugging the datapad back against her chest. “No one knows,” she admits hoarsely, swallowing thickly as she reminds herself of the fact that she needs to inform Kylo of the pregnancy—of their _child_. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t—”

She startles when his hand suddenly lands on her arm, _warm_ and _heavy_ , and she can barely focus on his words, her entire world narrowing down to the fact that _he’s touching her_. She gasps and jerks away from him, more violently than she may have intended at first, nearly tripping over her own feet as she stumbles backwards, her datapad clattering to the durasteel floor as it falls from her numb fingers.

Her heart is pounding in her ears and for a long moment, all she can _hear_ are the jeering taunts of the Stormtroopers that beat her in front of the other scavengers, and she can _feel_ their blows landing on the soft, delicate tissue of her stomach and chest, cracking her nose and ribs when they kick and punch, and she can nearly _smell_ the coppery, heady scent of her own blood mixing with the rough sands of Jakku’s surface again.

It takes her a long moment to shake the vision, and when she does, finally looking up at FN-2187 again, rather surprised by her own violent response to a simple touch, she’s _floored_ to see how _devastated_ he looks—as devastated as one can look with a mask concealing their face and identity.

He has, in fact, backed away from her, both hands raised in deference. “I apologize,” he says hurriedly, sounding downright _afraid_ , “I did not mean to startle or harm you. I did—”

“No,” she shakes her head, swallowing thickly as she takes a step towards him again, “Don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong, I assure you. I’m just… I don’t _like_ being touched.” The admission takes more out of her than she expected it would—but she feels _lighter_ also.

It is the first time she has actively enforced that physical boundary with someone without having to beat them into submission to get the message across.

With Kylo, it had never truly been an issue.

She _craves_ his touch, but still shies away from everyone else’s.

FN-2187 nods jerkily and seems to take a moment to collect himself before he weakly gestures to the—thankfully deserted—hallway they are traversing. “Do you still wish for me to show you back to your quarters? I could—I could ask someone else… Maybe FN-2003, he’s been there, too—”

“No,” she interrupts him, shaking her head. “No, it’s okay. I—” She exhales shakily and offers him a soft smile. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting the touch, so I was surprised. It’s not your fault.”

She can tell her words do not convince him, and she immediately feels _sorry_ for him. After all, he’d only been trying to help her, and she had completely lost her mind when he touched her arm to get her attention. “Tell me more,” she tells him, shakily accepting the datapad from him when he retrieves it from where it had fallen. “About this… this interest in medicine. Tell me more.”

It is a decidedly safer, uncomplicated topic, and as they walk, side by side, she learns many things about FN-2187. She learns that he is just shy of twenty-four standard years old, that he had been in the Stormtrooper program for as long as he can remember—that _all_ troopers are recruited at birth— and that he is being considered for officer training, but his compassion for others may thwart him in furthering his career and that he wishes he would have been allowed to begin medical training instead.

By the time they reach the door to her and Kylo’s shared quarters, she is almost sad to have to part from him. It has, after all, been quite some time since she had had the chance to have a normal conversation with someone other than Kylo or Esmé.

It feels nice.

“Thank you,” she offers when they slow to a stop before the door. “For walking me back and for entertaining me with your stories of your life.” She has a feeling he’s not talked this much to anyone before, and she just wants to ensure that he knows she did enjoy hearing about his life, even the boring little details.

“It was my pleasure, ma’am,” he replies, clicking his heels together before turning and heading back down the hallway without another word.

She sighs heavily and leans back against the door, her hand drifting down to her belly, briefly picturing the child that rests there, growing safely beneath her heart—the child that she will have to protect with everything she’s got.

She takes a few more minutes to regain her composure before pressing her hand to the fingerprint lock to open the door and face Esmé. Rey knows she’d been gone for _far_ longer than the originally planned hour, and she’s certain the other woman will have several questions for her—questions Rey isn’t entirely sure she has answers to.

As she expected, Esmé is seated in the small sitting corner, a few of Rey’s dresses and trousers draped over the sofa and across Esmé’s lap as she repairs the hem of one of the dresses. The woman looks up as Rey enters, a concerned look flashing across her face as she sets down the half-finished dress. “Are you alright, Lady Rey? You look quite pale.”

Rey winces a little at being addressed as such, but prepares to reply in the same fashion—after all, Kylo had warned them that Hux may very well still have their rooms tagged with small listening devices, and they’re not to drop their act. Kylo had personally removed the small listening devices that had littered their bedroom, dumping them in a large box with a note detailing the things he’d gladly do to Hux if he’d ever find him trying to pry into Kylo’s private life ever again.

Of course, no matter how he may try to be thorough, there is always a chance he has missed a few of the little devices, and neither of them wants to take the chance of Hux overhearing something he's not supposed to.

She settles on the sofa, careful not to crease any of the garments Esmé had spread out across the padded surface, rubbing her hand through her hair as she struggles to find the right words.

No words come to mind, and she groans quietly as she drops her head back against the soft cushions.

“Uh-oh,” Esmé says mildly, her amusement clearly echoing through her voice. “That bad?”

“It’s not—I mean…” Rey grumbles, rubbing her hand through her hair as she sits back up again. “I’m pregnant.” As the words tumble from her lips, she feels part of the invisible burden that she carried since she’d gotten the news fall from her shoulders, and she exhales shakily. She’d needed to say the words—to feel how they rolled off her tongue—at least once before she would have to tell Kylo.

She shuts her eyes, both afraid to see Esmé’s reaction and to soothe her rolling stomach—she does not want to be sick on top of everything else already.

“Oh, _bella_ ,” Esmé breathes, and then her small, soft hand is on Rey’s, and the touch is almost as comforting as Kylo’s, which startles her into looking up again. She’s never felt _comforted_ by a touch that wasn’t Kylo’s—not that she can remember anyway—and the idea that she _can_ be comforted by someone else is slightly overwhelming.

She only half-catches Esmé’s kind and gentle smile as the woman utters, “While unexpected, a child is always a gift to enrichen your life. I am sure you and Kylo will make wonderful parents.” 

Rey hums and closes her eyes again, trying to shut out the world for a few moments. “I don’t know,” she admits weakly. “He doesn’t want a baby—not now, anyway. He told me so last night, and I—” She cuts off, drawing her lip between her teeth as a tear rolls down her cheek, her heart squeezing painfully at the thought of Kylo’s anger and disappointment.

Esmé frowns, shaking her head lightly. “He’ll come around, sweetheart. That boy loves you more than he loves anything else in the entire galaxy—and he has for years. He’ll be pleased about the child in any case. A family with you is all he’s ever wanted.” 

Rey knows Kylo had been preparing the house in Varykino for years—a project to occupy his mind while he searched for her—but she’s never really thought about it. She never really thought he spoke about her to the people he’d hired, but clearly, he had spent a lot of time detailing the life he one day wanted to have with her—she’s not sure how she feels about _that_ either.

“Really?” Rey bites her lip pensively, trying to find a reply that would validate her _fear_ of telling Kylo about the pregnancy, but all she can see and feel now is fear of the harsh sting of rejection. “If he wanted a child, he wouldn’t have asked me to get a birth control implant though,” she whispers softly. “He wouldn’t have—he said there’s no room in our lives for a child, and he’s _right_ , but—”

That silences Esmé for a moment, before she sighs and nods a little. “Maybe,” she concedes, “Perhaps he simply suggested it because he felt _you_ wouldn’t be ready for a child. You are only nineteen, after all—you are younger than him by nearly a decade, and you do not share the memories he has of you… You should at least grant him the opportunity to tell you he loves you and the child. He could surprise you.”

She breathes in shakily and nods, tilting her head forward tiredly to rest it against the back of the sofa when the door hisses open and Kylo storms in, eyes wide and dark, the Force vibrating with anger and disbelief around him. He drops his mask to the floor with a loud thud, and strides forward, his face contorted with _anger_ as he glares at her.

“Esmé,” he _growls_ —he actually growls, and Rey’s heart _sinks_ because she _knows_ she is the reason he’s so angry—while stomping forward. “ _Leave_. We don’t need your assistance anymore today.”

Both women blink at him in silence for a long moment, startled by the blatant _rudeness_ of the order, before they turn towards each other once again.

Rey nods towards Esmé when the woman shoots her a questioning glance, and helps her gather the unfinished dresses and tunics before she stands, wringing her hands nervously as she watches Esmé leave the room, leaving her alone with Kylo, who is obviously _seething_ about something—she just wishes she knew what it was.

“Kylo?”

She steps forward hesitantly, nervous and a little scared, despite knowing Kylo would _never_ do anything to hurt her—but she’s never seen him like this before either, and knowing that she still has to tell him about the baby isn’t doing anything to soothe her nerves.

“You’ve been _hiding_ things from me,” he exclaims angrily, advancing on her _so fast_ that she barely has time to back away from him. “How long have you been _lying_ to me? _Playing_ me?”

Rey winces at the lingering _fear_ in his voice, but the accusation _stings_ , and her own anger wells up, because _she hasn’t done anything like that_. “I’ve _never_ lied to you!” She shouts back, poking her finger in the center of his chest angrily, “You know me better than that, Kylo! Now what the _kriff_ is wrong with you? Did Snoke do something?”  

She’s unsure why her thoughts immediately jump to Snoke as the reason for Kylo’s horrible mood, but it is not an unreasonable assumption, she thinks.

“All he’s done is help me,” Kylo hisses, his face contorted into a near-unrecognizable mask of anger and disgust. “He showed me your deceptive ways—the truth behind your _lies_!” She can sense his turmoil through the Force, the overwhelming force of his emotions, so _dark_ and _tangled_ that she can barely make sense of _any_ of it—but the _hurt_ and _heartbreak_ are so predominant and strong that it leaves her gasping, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tries to catch her breath.

And then his eyes stray down, to her flat stomach—and it _clicks_.

He knows.

He knows about the baby, and Snoke made him believe that she’d purposefully kept the pregnancy a secret from him. She is surprised by the wave of pure and utter _hatred_ towards Kylo’s so-called Master that wells up from a dark, secret place deep within her but revels within it and imagines _vividly_ what she’ll do to that sorry excuse of a man if she ever gets her hands on him.

First though…

She looks up at Kylo and swallows thickly.

First she needs to calm Kylo down.

“Kylo, please,” she starts, raising her hands to press against his chest, to establish _contact_. “It’s not like that. Let me explain.” Before her fingertips can make contact with his clothed chest, he jerks away, taking a step back, his eyes dark with a kind of _crushing_ pain that she _never_ wanted to see in his eyes— _ever_ —much less cause to be there.

“There’s nothing to _explain,”_ he spits, hurt and anger and betrayal ringing clear in his tone, his chest heaving with barely restrained _rage_ and his hands curling into fists at his sides. “How long have you known that you were bearing _my child_? How long have been _keeping_ _this_ _from_ _me_?”

He shouts the final words and she flinches at the unbridled hurt in his voice.

“I didn’t know,” she shouts back, tears rolling down her cheeks as she glares at him. “I just found out this morning—I haven’t seen you—I haven’t had the _chance_ to tell you!”

“You’re _lying_ ,” Kylo sneers, and the conviction behind his words clenches her heart so painfully, she can’t _breathe_ for a moment. “Why won’t you _stop lying?_ ”

“I’m not—” she chokes desperately, but he interrupts her, stomping over to her and grabbing her shoulders, forcing her back against the wall. “Don’t _lie_ to me, Rey!” He yells. “I wanted to give you the whole _galaxy_ —I would’ve done anything for you! Why wasn’t that _enough_?”

“I don’t want the kriffing _galaxy_ ,” she shouts back, shoving at his chest as hard as she can, because as afraid as she is of saying the wrong thing, of _hurting_ him and him leaving her, this is _ridiculous_ and he just needs to _listen_ to her to know it wasn’t like that. “I just want _you_ —I didn’t _hide_ this from you! I don’t—you need to _trust_ me! I didn’t plan this, I didn’t even _want_ this! For all I know, _you_ did this on purpose so I wouldn’t _leave_ again!”

“As if you _could_ leave me,” he snorts, “you don’t have anywhere else to go. You don’t have anyone but me. I’m the only one who ever cared at all.”

She stiffens, eyes wide, and she feels quite like he just slapped her in the face. His own eyes widen, as though he hadn’t known the words would fall from his lips until he heard them either, and she can read his emotions—absolute _horror_ —easily. His shoulders slump and it’s almost as though something _leaves_ him, the rage he had felt mere moments before all but evaporated into thin air.

“Rey, I didn’t mean that,” he whispers, voice soft and scared and filled with love and apology, and she just—she _can’t_.

“No,” she chokes, wiping impatiently at the tears that continually run down her cheeks, wishing she was _stronger_ so that his words wouldn’t _hurt_ so badly. So it wouldn’t feel as though he just took everything he knows she feels for him and stomped on it as though it was worthless. “No. I’m not going to stand here and _let_ you say something like that to me.”

He flinches, but she doesn’t _care_ —she’s not going to let him treat her like Tauntaun dung. “I’m not a weak little girl in need of your protection, Kylo,” she states, her voice ice-cold and steady. “Don’t let the façade we put up for Hux fool you—I don’t _need_ you, and I certainly don’t _need_ to stand here and let you take out your temper on me.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, eyes wide and sincere. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t know—when Hux came in—”

“What does _Hux_ have to do with this?” She exclaims, slightly exasperated as she crosses her arms over her chest. He stills, his full lower lip tucked between his teeth as he regards her with red-rimmed eyes. Eventually, he lifts his hand, tugging off the black leather gloves and dropping them to the floor, before offering it to her. “Let me show you,” he pleads. “Please.”

She eyes his hand, feeling more than a little suspicious and angry, and she’s quite certain that _nothing_ he could show her is going to diminish or take away the ache that his words caused. “Please,” he whispers again, stretching his hand out towards her a little further, and the genuine regret that flows through the Force softens her a little.

“Fine,” she nods, reaching out and placing her hand in his.

Immediately, she is drawn into a memory, the feeling just as disorienting and dizzying as it had been the first time they shared memories like this, and it takes her a moment to gather her bearings. She is standing in a large, darkened room, beside a masked Kylo, who has his head bowed in deference to the enormous hologram of a—

She gasps when she gets her first look at Supreme Leader Snoke, pressing her hands to her mouth to smother the sound, even though she knows neither of the men in the room can hear or see her.

Snoke looks much like one of the monsters the other scavengers had told her of when she was younger—ghost stories of evil Sith Lords that preyed upon children, who took them from their families and drained their lives—of men that enjoyed using children in ways that no child should ever be used.

“Your failure to find Luke Skywalker disappoints me, Kylo Ren,” the hologram speaks, his voice a heavy timbre that vibrates and resonances through the entire chamber. “I expected better of—”

He is interrupted when the double doors behind Kylo hiss open and the red-headed General storms in, his expression downright _gleeful_ as he slows to a stop beside Kylo, his hands clasped primly behind his back. “Supreme Leader,” he speaks, eyeing the hologram before him reverently. “I apologize for the interruption, but I come bearing news that is of the utmost importance.”

The man standing beside Kylo now seems like such a far cry from the man that escorted Rey to her quarters just yesterday that she would doubt he is the same man at all—if not for his rather recognizable red hair and the identical, impeccable uniform. The man that had escorted her yesterday had been clever and careful, not a single emotion slipping through the blank expression he hid behind—this man… This man looks _smug_ and _gleeful_ and she’s unsure what to think of it.

“Speak, then, General,” Snoke gestures impatiently. “Do not waste my time.”

“Lord Ren’s _pet_ ,” Hux sneers, and she can _feel_ Kylo tense, muscles coiling tightly beneath his back robe. “She just paid a visit to the med bay—”

“Milord, please,” Kylo interrupts, stepping forward. “I can clear this up—Rey only went upon my request—she is getting a general health exam and a birth control chip. I fail to see neither the urgency nor importance of her movements when I was aware of them.”

The smirk on Hux’s face in response to Kylo’s words is downright _feral_ , and Rey feels a little sick to watch the events unfold. “Oh, I believe you’ll want to hear this, Ren,” Hux snickers before turning his attention to Snoke once again. “The girl is _pregnant_ ,” he spits, “Four or so weeks, according to the droid’s estimation.”

Rey flinches, and though she can’t actually _see_ Kylo’s face through his mask, his surprise and disbelief echoes loudly through the Force, and Snoke obviously picks up on it.

“Women know these sorts of things, Kylo Ren,” Snoke hisses cruelly, both out loud and through the Force, the words slithering into Kylo’s mind and latching onto his insecurities and fears. “You should examine her loyalties carefully—avoid an attachment if she has outlived her usefulness. Allowing her to carry the child to term in such case would, of course, be the better option. There are simpler ways of disposing of her afterwards.”

At that, Rey has seen and heard enough, and she jerks out of the memory, gasping for breath as she does, her legs collapsing from beneath her. She would have fallen if not for her hand in Kylo’s and his quick reactions. He catches her, carrying her towards the sofa as she attempts to calm her roiling stomach, desperately attempting to push down the nausea that rises at the idea of Snoke laying his filthy hands upon _her_ child.

“I’m sorry,” Kylo whispers against her, wrapping his arms around her waist tightly. “I am so sorry for ever doubting you—but it was as though I couldn’t _think_ straight anymore. I couldn’t believe—” He cuts himself off and presses his lips to her forehead and, despite her lingering anger, she finds herself leaning into the small, tender touch.

“I’ll keep you both safe,” he swears, his hand drifting down to press against her belly. “Nothing— _no one_ —will touch you. We may not have planned this, but I swear…” He kisses her forehead again. “I _want_ this, and I want it with you, and no one else. I won’t let Snoke take our child, I promise.”

Rey takes a deep, shuddering breath and leans her head back against his shoulder. “How will you do that?” She asks, her voice hoarse with unshed tears. “You can’t always be there.”

“Then I’ll find someone who can be there when I can’t,” he replies stubbornly, not moving his hand from where it is pressed against her belly. “I will do anything in my power to ensure you and our child will be safe from Snoke and that red-headed _worm_ of a man.”

She snorts at his—surprisingly apt—description of Hux, and sighs. The thought of a permanent guard is almost _more_ aggravating than the idea of a handmaiden and _dresses_ had been, but she is smart enough to realize that anything that will help protect the baby is something she’ll do, despite her own feelings on the subject.

“FN-2187,” she muses quietly, startling when Kylo rumbles behind her.

“What?”

“FN-2187,” she repeats, louder this time, turning a little so she can look at his face. “He found me after—he made sure I made it back here safely. He’s… There’s _something_ different about him. If I need a guard, I want him—I think I could trust him.”

“Very well,” Kylo nods after a moment. “If that’s what you want.”

They fall silent, and Rey rests her head back against Kylo’s shoulder, her eyes slipping shut as she enjoys the silent push and pull of their entwined emotions and minds. And then a thought flashes across her mind, too quick and fleeting to have been hers, and her heart squeezes painfully as she sits up again, pinching the bridge of her nose before she speaks.

“No,” she says softly. “No, I don’t want you to ask me like this. I know what you’re going to say, but just… _Don’t_.” She can feel him bristle a little, but ignores it—she has no desire to soothe his ruffled feathers right now. She thinks she has more than enough to deal with on her own plate before she needs to deal with his issues as well.

After all… she has a child to prepare for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has a final chapter now! :D Well, one that I'm working towards.   
> If everything works out according to plan--which is never a certainty when writing these two--there should be two more chapters after this and then an epilogue. 
> 
> Thank you to Meaghan (Juulna) for helping me figure out the storyline and for generally being an awesome person! (Everyone who hasn't, go check out her fics too! They're awesome, every single one of them :D)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please leave a comment! 
> 
> Love, Annaelle


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter, peeps! There'll be an epilogue too though, I promise :D
> 
> Thanks for all the love and support, and thanks to Meaghan for being an awesome beta who knows what I want to say in a chapter, even when I don't :D 
> 
> Love, Annaelle

# "A simple child that lightly draws its breath and feels its life in every limb.   
What should it know of death?"  
—Wordsworth

**FOUR AND A HALF MONTHS LATER**

Rey leans back on the metal table, pressing her bare feet onto the cold steel as she cradles the swell of her belly, rubbing her hand up and down the side to calm the baby. She is still unused to the small bump that juts out from beneath the smaller swell of her breasts, now noticeable even beneath the more concealing dresses Esmé had made for her.

It feels odd, when she thinks about it, that there is another life growing within her—a child that will be part her and part Kylo. The first few times she had gotten an ultrasound, she had been unable to see a clear image of the baby; unable to identify which part of the fuzzy bluish holograph was her child, but Kylo, Eight-Seven and Esmé had helped her until she knew what to look for through teary eyes.

This is her first scheduled check-up without Kylo there to hold her hand, and it unnerves her quite a bit—over the past four months he has barely left her side, and has kept his word.

He arranged for FN-2187 to be relieved of his Stormtrooper duties so he could be assigned as her permanent bodyguard, informed Supreme Leader Snoke that he would continue to monitor her ‘loyalties’ for the duration of her pregnancy to throw him and Hux off, and guided her through every hurdle the pregnancy presented them with.

One such hurdle—quite possibly the largest one—had been her diet and weight.

She has gained far too little weight so far, despite their best efforts. In fact, Esmé had already told her that, looking at her from behind, one couldn’t tell she was with child at all.

In her own defence, she had suffered from a severe case of morning sickness, reducing her appetite to virtually nothing—and when she did want to eat, she often couldn’t quite keep it down. The medical droids had, after expressing concern for the baby’s health should she not gain more weight, drawn up a strict nutritional diet plan, which she is _trying_ to follow closely—she doesn’t want the baby to have hearing or sight problems, or even _die_ because she couldn’t even be pregnant right.

She’d tuned out when the droids had discussed the problems too little weight gain could cause _her_ , because she honestly didn’t care so much—all she wants now is to take care of her baby—but it had spooked Kylo and Esmé terribly.

“Are you alright?”

Rey jumps a little, her hand stilling on her belly as she turns to look at Eight-Seven, who has situated himself next to the examination table, close enough so that she can reach for him should she feel the need to, but far enough to keep the professional distance he so insists upon. He offers her a sincere smile, and she thinks back upon the first time she had seen him without his white plastoid armour—the first time he’d really looked like an actual _person_ to her, rather than a faceless Stormtrooper.  

It was, in fact, one of the first things she had asked of him when Kylo assigned him to her protection—the plastoid armour made her rather uncomfortable still, as though she was talking to a faceless stranger. He had gladly shed the armour in exchange for charcoal grey trousers and shirts, with black belts around his waist and upper thigh, a spare blaster, a knife, and a comlink attached to it.

Rey had been fascinated by the dark ebony colour of his skin, many shades darker than her own and Kylo’s—but smoother and softer than anyone else’s she’d ever met. His arms and hands are free of scars and callouses, unlike her own and, while she’s still not entirely comfortable with being touched by him, she does enjoy it when he allows her to hold his hands, her fingers tracing over his in search of imperfections she _knows_ aren’t there.

He is handsome, too, in a way that is so different from Kylo that it is easy to separate the two.

Kylo is strong and muscled, of course, strengthened by two decades of daily lightsaber training, but tall and lithe—if she hadn't seen him dressed down and nude, she would never have guessed just how well-defined his musculature is beneath the black robe that he dons more often than not.

His features are distinguished and not quite classically handsome, with ears and a nose that are just a tad too big for his face, but he is still the most handsome man in the galaxy to her.

Eight-Seven, on the other hand, is a full head shorter than Kylo and brawny, his muscled biceps straining against the dark shirts he wears, the fabric tight around his chest and looser around his slim waist, his bulging muscles a direct result of years and years of vigorous training in combat and survival. She had never found muscular men particularly attractive, but there is something kind and soothing about the way Eight-Seven holds himself—something radiant that drew her in before she had ever even seen his face, his warm brown eyes and his full lips that easily tilt up into a breath-taking smile.

She thinks that, had she not met Kylo first, she may have been able to develop a different sort of relationship with him. As it stands, however, she is quite content with the way things are between them right now—she considers him a dear friend, more than simply a bodyguard.

She alternates between calling him Eight-Seven and Big Deal, because she absolutely _abhors_ the designation number, and she refuses to use it. He had blatantly refused her attempt to name him, but allowed the nickname Big Deal after he had admitted the other troopers didn’t like him much—that he was seen as a bit of an outsider.

He did, after all, have the highest ranking test scores—on _every_ test—and rumour has it that he was being considered for officer training before Kylo had him assigned to Rey’s protection. Big Deal seemed like an appropriate nickname, and she likes the way it makes him smile when she uses it.

“I’m okay,” she replies, drawing her lip between her teeth as she sighs. “Just a little tired still.”

It’s no secret to him or Esmé that she doesn’t sleep very well when Kylo isn’t there, and he grimaces sympathetically before cautiously patting her shoulder. “Lord Ren should be back within the next two standard days—his mission was but a short one.”

“I know,” she sighs, wincing a little when the baby kicks against her hand. “I just… The baby’s usually calmer when he’s around.” It is not a lie—there is something about Kylo’s presence that usually soothes their unusually active baby when Rey is trying to sleep or rest a little. That is not, however, why she is feeling particularly morose at the moment.

The day before Kylo had left, he had found her with her little stash of things. He’d not been angry or sad, and neither had she, but it had been a very emotionally charged moment, and she feels a little unsettled that he had had to leave so soon after their talk about her stash.

Once she’d _processed_ the news about the pregnancy, she’d begun collecting little things.

Nothing overt or big, because a part of her _knows_ Kylo will make sure she and the baby are always taken care of, but a decade of self-preservation is hard to shake and, almost before she knew it, she had a small, locked box filled with ration bars and other non-perishables, a few small blankets, a datapad, and shirts that she hid under their bed, where she knew no one would look for it.  

It had made her feel a little more _secure_ to know that she had a little something stashed away.

_Just in case._

She hadn’t told Kylo about it because she knew he’d try to tell her it was not necessary, and she _needed_ to do something in preparation for the baby. _Something_ to ensure that she would be able to take care of her child in even the worst scenario she could imagine.

The day before Kylo left, she had been adding a few ration bars to the stash when Kylo had walked in, and the look in his eye had nearly _broken_ her heart. There hadn’t been a need for her to explain what the box contained or why she was keeping it—he had _known_. He’d taken the box from her and held her silently as she cried noiselessly, wishing that they were more _prepared_ and stronger—that they were _ready_.

He’d reminded her, gently, that she didn’t _need_ to hog things anymore, and that he _would_ care for them.

It had been a reassurance that she, despite the fact that she already _knew_ he would provide for them, desperately _needed_ and _wanted_ to hear from him.

She only wishes they would have had more time together after the emotionally-charged moment.

She is drawn from the memory when the baby kicks its little foot against her hand again, the imprint of the tiny extremity clearly outlined through the skin of her swollen stomach. Rey grins, lifting her tunic a little to look at it, before taking Big Deal’s hand in hers and pressing it to the baby’s foot. “Baby’s _very_ active today,” she tells him with a smirk. “Must know you’re here, too.”

Big Deal’s answering grin is radiant, and draws her right out of her slightly morose mood.

“Do you want a boy or a girl?” He asks innocently, eyes straying towards where his hand rests against the pale skin of her belly. “Will you find out today?”

“Yes,” Rey sighs, leaning her head back against the pillow. “Kylo has said he’d like a boy, but I feel like it may be a girl.” Her nose wrinkles when she hears herself say those words, and Eight-Seven chuckles with her when she continues, “It sounds ridiculous when I say it as such, but… I don’t know. Just a feeling. I hope we will get the chance to return to Naboo, though.” She heaves a wistful sigh and smiles. “I’d like it if I could raise the baby there, surrounded by green fields and lush forests and _peace_.”

Eight-Seven hums in reply, before musing, “I wonder if I would still be required as your bodyguard if you do. I do think I’d like to see Naboo and Corellia and other planets. Perhaps I could even find my family one day…” He sounds both hopeful and sad, and she wishes she could offer him more assistance on the matter, but most people aboard the _Finalizer_ still regard her as a foolish little girl, and she’d not want to draw attention to herself or the baby by making inquiries she shouldn’t.

She opens her mouth, intent on offering something, _anything_ , to console him, but he is shaking his head already, waving her concerns off before she’s even voiced them. “It’s not important, m’lady,” he tells her, his smile bright and sincere. “Some things are not meant to be.”

The words _break_ her heart, but before she can say anything, the door hisses open and a droid followed by a familiar nurse step inside, offering them both greetings before getting to work. The droid goes about setting up the machine that’ll show her her child while the copper-haired nurse takes her vitals.

“Would you please leave the room?” The woman asks Eight-Seven politely, offering them a bland and rather empty smile. “It is rather unusual to have someone other than the parents in the room.”

Something twists, deep in her gut, at the thought of being left alone, and she clutches at Eight-Seven’s hand tightly. “No,” she tells the nurse before he can say anything, “I want him to stay. And Kylo, _Lord Ren_ , assigned him to protect me. He can’t fulfil his duties to me if he is standing outside the door, where he cannot see me at all.”

Her tone brooks no room for argument, and she steadily looks into the woman’s dark eyes—deep, dark blue like the night sky above Jakku’s hot, sandy surface—until the other woman has nodded reluctantly, her thin lips turned down into a displeased scowl.

Rey grins, satisfied, as the woman turns away to enter her blood pressure into her medical charts and then loosens her grip on Eight-Seven’s hand as nerves flutter through her system.

“I could have left,” he offers quietly.

His eyes are wide and sincere, and she has no doubt that he _would_ have done so if she asked him to—but she _doesn’t_ want him to. Having someone by her side helps keep her calm while the nurse pokes and prods her while taking her vitals.

Being touched by a stranger is still incredibly difficult for her, and usually she is able to curl into Kylo’s arms while the nurse works—taking comfort in his familiar, warm touch and Force Signature—but she doesn't even have that today.

Eight-Seven _is_ here though, and he will have to do.

“I didn't want to be alone,” she admits softly, dropping her gaze to her lap where her hands rest on her belly. “It's overwhelming, to do this without Kylo here.” She stands by her words—she doesn't _need_ him, but that doesn't take away from the fact that she feels a lot better and less anxious when he _is_ there.

Eight-Seven squeezes her hand and offers her a small smile when she looks up. “Then I'm staying right here. Whatever you need of me, Lady Rey. Just name it.”

She smiles at him, narrowly avoiding the urge to roll her eyes a little—he's always been a bit dramatic, making unnecessarily grandiose statements and gestures to signify his loyalty to her, as though she would ever question it in the first place. “Thanks, Big Deal,” she grins at him, leaning her head back against the pillow as she watches the Medi-droid zoom across the room to prepare for the Holoscan.

They chat amicably for a while longer while the nurse finishes updating the med-chart and sets up the vitamins and medication Rey will need later, before the woman finally announces they're ready to perform the scan.

Rey bites her lip as she lays back, the bed lowering itself into a horizontal position as metal arches slide up into place at the head and foot of the bed. The nurse lowers herself onto a chair beside the bed and draws up the blue holoscreen, tapping the settings until the holoscanner—a thin, metallic probe—whirs to life and slides down the length of Rey’s body until it hovers over her distended belly, emitting a shrill beep as it scans her stomach.

Rey's eyes water a little as an image of a baby— _her_ baby, her _perfect, beautiful_ baby—appears on the screen, wriggling and stretching within her belly as the nurse studies the image.  

“Your baby looks perfectly healthy. Would you like to know the gender?”

Before the nurse can say anything else, or Rey can reply, Eight-Seven gasps, leaning forward towards the image as he breathes, “It’s a girl… _Rey_ —” His breath catches and he offers her a wide grin. “You were right. You're having a girl.”

Her heart constricts in her chest, and her breath hitches as she gapes at the holograph of her baby— _her daughter_ —with wide, teary eyes, unable to comprehend the magnitude of _knowing_ … Of _seeing_ her daughter move, while still in utero; _knowing_ that her daughter’s _real_. It is so difficult to comprehend that there is actually _a baby_ growing within her belly.

She will have an actual human being to take care of in little more than four months—and that’s _terrifying._

But then…

 _She_ made that.

She and Kylo created the little life inside of her and she’s absolutely in _awe_ of how breathtakingly _beautiful_ she already thinks their daughter is. The idea that the mere image of her baby can inspire such conflicting feelings within her scares her even more, because it makes her feel like she’s spinning out of control, losing her grip on the carefully set plan she and Kylo had worked out for their future.

“She’s a little on the small side,” the nurse says gruffly, drawing Rey from her minor panic-attack, before downloading the image of the baby onto Rey’s datapad, as she does every time. “But it’s nothing to worry about. I suspect she’ll grow more now that your diet has been adapted accordingly.”

Rey nods shakily, taking the datapad from Eight-Seven as he offers it to her, trailing her fingers over the pale blue image of her _daughter_. “I need to think of _names_ now,” she tells Eight-Seven absently as the nurse moves about the room, muttering beneath her breath about prenatal vitamins and vaccinations.

Rey’s eyes are still stuck on the moving image of the baby. “It’s so _real_ now.”

“Was it not real before?” Eight-Seven’s words are soft and kind, but she catches the incredulity and confusion in his tone, even though he tries to hide it.

“It was,” she grins, looking up at him. “But this is… Just—it’s different now.”

The nurse steps up beside her again, holding a Medjector with a bright yellow liquid, and demands, “Hold out your arm, please. These are your prenatal vitamins, with an extra addition of vitamin D, since you have too little access to natural sunlight.” Rey just nods, holding out her arm as she scrolls through the information the Holoscanner had recorded regarding the baby’s size and weight and her gestational age—Rey has no idea what that means, but Eight-Seven probably knows.

She turns to ask him—and then suddenly there’s shouting, and Eight-Seven yanks her back, away from the suddenly red-faced and frantic nurse, before launching himself over the table, knocking the woman to the floor with a loud thud, wrestling the woman onto her stomach, and then forcing her arms behind her back in one swift move before he slaps the stun cuffs he carries on his belt onto her wrists.  

“What—” Rey cries out in confusion, curling her arms around her swollen belly protectively as she watches Eight-Seven stun the woman. “Eight-Seven, what the Pfassk is going on?”

He doesn’t answer her, his expression set in a mask of anger and determination unlike anything she’s ever seen from him before, but pulls his comlink from his belt and turns it on. “FN-2187 requesting arrest team in Echo Med bay,” he snaps abruptly. “I have a traitor in custody. She’ll need escorting down to the holding cells until Lord Ren and General Hux are ready to question her.”

“An FN-Squad is on route to your location, FN-2187,” Captain Phasma’s cool, collected voice rings out from the comlink. “Is the traitor secure?”

Rey watches, wide-eyed, as Eight-Seven nods curtly before verbally responding. “Yes, Captain. I restrained and stunned her.” For the first time since he’d launched himself over the examination table, he looks over at her, and she is surprised to see the _fear_ and _worry_ in his eyes as he studies her. “Lady Rey appears to have been unharmed,” he tells Phasma without taking his eyes off of her. “I managed to foil the traitor’s attempt to administer the medicine before she was able to hurt Lady Rey or the child.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end before Phasma’s voice rings through the comlink once again. “Well done, FN-2187. Kylo Ren will be contacted right away.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Eight-Seven replies curtly, before clipping the comlink back onto his belt.

Rey releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding at that, clutching at her belly as the rest of the room slowly trickles back into her field of perception. The Medi-droid is still screeching in protest and the redheaded nurse is struggling against her cuffs on the floor, despite Eight-Seven’s foot planted in the middle of her back to keep her down.

“Big Deal,” she swallows thickly as the baby _kicks_ , wincing a little. “What happened?”

Before he can answer, the door hisses open and four Stormtroopers stomp inside, blasters raised and ready as they come to a stop before Eight-Seven. “FN-2199 reporting for prisoner exchange,” the tallest trooper speaks, stepping up and handing his blaster to the trooper on his right.

“Good to see you,” Eight-Seven grins, hauling up the bound nurse and shoving her towards FN-2199. “This woman tried to harm my charge—I’m sure Kylo Ren would like to know why. I suggest detaining her in the lower level interrogation chambers. Easier to monitor those who come and go, as it’s a restricted area.” Rey has never actually seen Eight-Seven interact with someone other than herself and Esmé—and Kylo—and she knows he used to be a part of these men’s team.

Somehow, she expected there to be more… affinity.

“We know perfectly well how to handle high-profile prisoners without your input,” the other trooper snarls, pulling the nurse towards the exit. Eight-Seven rears back as though the other Trooper had punched him, and Rey winces a little in his stead—that seemed like an unusually harsh response to what was likely no more than an innocent suggestion from Eight-Seven.

She drops her eyes to her round belly as the Troopers prepare to leave again, rubbing her hand over her bellybutton when her little girl kicks a few times in rapid succession, obviously displeased with Rey’s rising anxiety concerning the situation. She’s unsure of exactly _what_ happened or how Eight-Seven knew that it was happening, but from what Eight-Seven had inferred to the Troopers and Captain Phasma, she was able to figure out that the woman had tried to do _something_ to hurt her or the baby and—

The thought is _baffling_ and _frightening_ , and she doesn’t want to think about it until Eight-Seven can tell her _exactly_ what had happened and how she had missed it—she’s the baby’s _mother_.

She’s supposed to be _ready_ to stop threats.

“Are you—you’re alright, aren’t you? Taking care of yourself?” Eight-Seven’s not-quite-whisper catches her attention, and she looks up to find him and one of the Troopers standing by the door, heads bent together in what looks to be a pretty intimate conversation. She wants to look away—she _does_ , honestly—but the look on Eight-Seven’s face is tender, and caring, and worried, unlike anything she’s ever seen from him before, and it makes her heart squeeze a little.

Whoever the Trooper is, he obviously means _something_ to him.

The Trooper tilts his head to the side, almost as though he’s confused by Eight-Seven’s inquiry, before replying, “Even if I weren’t—why would you care? You _abandoned_ us for something newer and more exciting.” Before Eight-Seven can say anything to that, the Trooper turns and follows his comrades outside, leaving her and Eight-Seven in dumbstruck silence.

The look on his face has changed from worry to sheer _heartbreak_ , and she wants nothing more than to hug him tightly until he’s forgotten whatever put that look on his face but, before she can do so much as say something, he has shaken himself from his morose state and is approaching her, offering her a steady hand to get up off the table.

“Hey,” she squeezes his hand a little to gain his attention. “Are you—”

“It’s not important,” he cuts her off, his voice lower and gruffer than usual. “And I should be asking that of you.” He stops, his large hands curled around her elbows as she stands on rather shaky legs, eyes riveted on her face with such intensity that it nearly makes her uncomfortable. “ _Are_ you? Alright?”

“I’d be better if I knew what the hell happened,” she shoots back, cradling her belly protectively.

He winces a little at her sharp tone, but his words had thrown her right back into the fearful, angry headspace she’d been in moments before, and she needs to know what happened so that she can prevent it from happening ever again—she _won’t_ tolerate a threat towards her child.

He steps forward towards her, leaning around her to pick up a small bottle that lay on the tray beside the examination table. She watches, confused, as he studies the small label carefully before flinching and dropping it back onto the tray with a metallic clank as though it would burn him.

“I wasn’t sure… But when she was getting the Medjector,” he starts, keeping his eyes locked on hers, “I realized she was getting her supplies from a different cupboard than she usually does. I’m no expert, of course, but I do know that the classification of medical supply cupboards rarely change, so it struck me as a bit odd.” He tilts his head down, breaking their eye contact and scratching at the back of his neck in an endearingly nervous gesture. “I realized that the liquid she drew into the Medjector wasn’t the same color as your regular vitamins, and then I saw she was trembling and perspiring and I—”

He takes a deep breath and shrugs. “I responded.” He gestures towards the durasteel tray that still stands beside the examination table, several bottles of medicine laying overturned on its shiny surface. “She was trying to give you something that—”

“That _what_?” she demands, unable to keep the tremble out of her voice, though she isn’t sure she needs him to say the words—the look on his face speaks volumes.

He wets his lips nervously before whispering hoarsely, “It was Cyprostol.” He looks up at her again and it’s only the intensity of his stare that keeps her knees from buckling as fear and anger and _shock_ rush through her veins. “It would have caused you to—” His voice breaks, and he takes a deep, ragged breath before he finishes, “You would have lost the baby.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she can’t shake the shocked numbness that settles over her entire body even as she stumbles back, bumping hard against the metal slab, pain blossoming in her lower back—but even that feels _distant_ , and all she really wants to do is curl up in a corner and cry until the world begins to make sense again.

“Rey?”

Eight-Seven steps forward, gently reaching out to cup her elbow, steadying her a little.

The suddenness of the touch shakes her from her shock-induced terror, and she exhales sharply as her eyes snap up to meet his. “Thank you,” she gulps, tears burning in her eyes, “I didn’t—I should thank you.” The words feel foreign as they fall from her lips, and she’s not sure what to make of that. “You saved the baby—and _me_ ,” she clarifies shakily, dropping her gaze to where his hand is still on her elbow.

He follows her gaze and quickly moves to pull his hand away—he clearly has not forgotten her initial reaction to him touching her, and she feels a little bad about that. Before he can pull away fully, she reaches out and grabs his arm, tugging him a little closer—he gives her a foreign sense of safety, that she’s only ever really felt with Kylo before, and though she is still terrified beyond belief, it’s also a soothing, comforting feeling that she is loath to let go of just yet.

She _wants_ to feel safe, even if it is just for a little while.

“I’ll take you back to your room,” he tells her with a soft, kind smile. “Lord Ren is probably already on his way back, and I am sure you could use some time to rest.”

She nods slowly, before allowing him to lead her out of the med bay.

She _could_ use some time to herself.

She needs to _think_.

.

.

.

When she drifts back into consciousness many hours later, there is someone in her bed with her, plastered against her back, warm and heavy, his large hand resting on the center of her belly and his breath moist against the back of her neck. Her eyes are still crusted with sleep and dried tears, and she feels oddly disconnected, as though her mind had simply decided it could not process the information that had been thrown at her today and had shut down in wordless protest.

Eight-Seven had taken her back to her quarters and had told her to rest while he sorted everything out, and while Rey would have loved to protest and insist on taking care of everything herself, she had been truly mentally and physically exhausted, even though she had hardly done anything.

She had barely made it to her bed before collapsing in exhaustion.

She has no idea how long she has been asleep, but evidently it had been long enough for Kylo to return to the _Finalizer_ and to offer her comfort even in her sleep.

She is mildly surprised when Kylo shifts behind her, pressing his lips against the nape of her neck as he whispers, “You’re awake.” His hand rubs over her belly in what she supposes would otherwise be a comforting gesture, but doesn’t speak beyond that, and she is grateful that he does not ask her how she is feeling—she doesn’t _know_ how she feels, and she wouldn’t be able to put that into words.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” she admits quietly, resting her hand on top of his as she slots their fingers together. “I didn’t know how far the mission took you, so—”

His fingers tighten around hers and he growls beneath his breath, the soft sound reverberating against the back of her neck, causing goosebumps to spring up across the entirety of her body. “I dropped _everything_ for this—for _you_. Of course I am here.”

A shuddering breath falls from her lips when he speaks those words, and when he gently pulls on her shoulder to turn her so she'll face him, she rolls towards him willingly, _desperate_ for anything that will make her _feel_ again. Kylo’s hand settles on her lower back as she curls up in his embrace, fisting her hand in the front of his tunic and pressing her nose in the dip between his collarbones.

He smells of sweat, sand, dust and something distinctly _Kylo_. It comforts her, grounds her and settles her nerves unlike anything before.

She shuts her eyes and slips her arms around his back, rubbing her fingers over the ridges of his spine through the soft, worn fabric of his tunic before she speaks, so matter-of-factly that she may as well be discussing the weather. “They tried to kill our daughter, Kylo. And they would have _succeeded_ if Eight-Seven wouldn't have—”

She cuts herself off and sobs dryly into his skin, unable to produce any sort of real tears anymore, terror and fear washing over her once again as her own words force her to remember that morning.

“Show me.”

Kylo's words are strained and she can sense the barely-contained rage within him, the flames of his _hatred_ for whomever dared harm their child burning hot and unrelenting—and she knows what he is asking for…

She is just not sure she can live through the memory again.

“I _cannot_ ,” she whispers, her voice breaking on the last word as tears burn in her eyes, undiluted _anger_ and _fear_ rushing through her body so quickly that the emotions are nearly indistinguishable from one another, and she can barely _breathe_ beneath the crushing weight of her own fear and Kylo’s rage. “I _can’t_ , Kylo— _please_.” She clutches at him, gasping for breath that never truly feels like it reaches her lungs, pressing her hand to her belly when the baby kicks and wriggles, clearly unsatisfied with the emotional upheaval her mother is experiencing.

She feels Kylo take a few deep breaths before the emotional turmoil he had been projecting into the Force settles a little, and his body relaxes against hers, his hand coming up to cover her belly, where their daughter is still kicking furiously. “Shh, little love,” he whispers, rubbing his fingers in small circles on her belly, “It’s alright. You are alright. I will not let anyone harm you or your mother.”

“When you find them,” she says hoarsely, blinking rapidly at the burn of tears in her eyes. “I want you to chain them up and leave them for me to finish.” She looks up at him, entirely unsurprised by the awed bewilderment in his eyes, before adding, “They tried to kill _my daughter_. I’ll have their heads.”

“We will,” he vows, before rolling her onto her back and pinning her, his pupils dilated and full lips parted. “And I will conquer the entire galaxy to keep you both safe, if I must.” She dimples up at him and reaches up to tangle her fingers into his hair, pulling his lips down to hers—he seems to have absolutely no objections and gives in happily, claiming her lips with his eagerly.

The kiss grounds her and reassures her, and after a few soft, languid kisses he breaks away, resting his forehead against hers as they both take a few deep breaths to steady themselves.

“I want to marry you,” Rey blurts, the words falling from her lips before she’s truly realized what she said—Kylo’s expression is positively dumbstruck, and she’s certain he hadn’t been expecting the words from her any more than she had. After the way she had reacted the last time he had attempted to broach the subject, she supposes the words _would_ come as a genuine surprise.

“Rey.”

Kylo’s eyes are wide, and filled with startling amounts of love, confusion, and hope—emotions unlike any she has ever seen from him before.

“I mean it,” she says steadily, reaching up to cup his cheeks in her hands. “I wasn’t _ready_ , before. I couldn’t—it was too much at once. But now, I… I _want_ to marry you, and be your wife. But if I—if _you_ aren’t ready, then I won’t—” She cuts off when Kylo shakes his head before leaning down and pressing his lips to hers, effectively shutting down her nervous rambling.

“Are you sure?”

There is an uncanny vulnerability in his voice, and she can _feel_ his solemnity through the Force. He sits up on his knees and aids her in sitting up as well—it’s getting harder with her belly in the way, even if she refuses to admit it—before cupping her hands in both of his. “I will never let you go—I won’t be able to, Rey. Don’t say this if you’re not entirely sure it’s what you want.”

Rey pulls her hands from his and presses them to his cheeks as she replies, “I just want _you_ , Kylo.” She leans forward and presses her lips to his in a quick peck. “You and our daughter—that’s _all_ I want.”

He is silent for a long moment before pressing his forehead against hers. “You have me, Rey. You have _us_.” He moves his fingers up over her cheek and into her hair as he draws her into a gentle kiss that soothes her frayed nerves a little and sets her mind a little more at ease.

“Say you’ll be mine,” she tells him shakily as she pulls back, rubbing her fingers over the stubble on his cheeks. “Tell me you’ll be _my_ husband.”

“I’m already yours,” he replies quietly. “And I will be your husband.”

“And I’m yours,” she whispers, leaning in for another kiss. “I will be your wife.”


	9. Chapter 9

**"Pregnancy seems designed to prepare you for life as a mother. You start making sacrifices nine months before the child is born, so by the time they put in an appearance, you are used to giving things up for them."**   
**—Brett Kiellerop**

**A MONTH LATER**

_"—And I assure you, I will launch a full-scale investigation into how a second traitor worked their way into our detention center to kill Jaina Grey. As of yet, she appears to have been operating alone, though her murder suggests otherwise and her motives are still unclear. Rest assured, w_ _e_ will _determine why she attempted to harm your…_ lovely _intended and child."_

Rey pokes at her Trandoshani Flatcake as the message reaches its end, the holographic figure of General Hux collapsing back into the comlink Kylo had set on the table before them. Jaina Grey, the nurse who had attempted to inject Rey with a labour-inducing drug, had been killed within four hours after Eight-Seven had handed her off to his former squadron to be locked up.

She'd been dead before Kylo had even arrived back on the _Finalizer_ , and when he and Rey had emerged from their bedroom, the message from Hux had been waiting for them.

While the message itself was perfectly acceptable—commendable, even, considering the fact that the animosity between her husband and the General was no secret—it had sparked a deep suspicion within them both. Hux's response to the nurse's death had almost been _too_ swift and _too_ considerate, and the fact that Jaina had been locked up in a high-security and restricted-access cell had made Kylo suspicious towards literally _anyone_ with the correct security clearances.

Unfortunately, whoever was behind the plot to kill their baby—and Jaina Grey—had been well prepared. The security holos had been disabled hours before, the fingerprinting technology hacked and corrupted, and any and all physical evidence was lacking. If they did not know better, Rey would almost believe it had been a ghost that killed Jaina.

Such a thing was, of course, laughable.

The nurse had been killed by someone very human—a fair assumption, she believes, considering that the First Order lacks a larger array of non-human species in their ranks—with enough power and sway to ensure no one would betray him or her to the rather fearsome Kylo Ren.

The only person with _motive_ and those assets that Rey could—and can—think of, is Hux, and if not for the complete lack of actual evidence, Rey would long since have beat the truth out of him.

Kylo had saved the message and replays it still, desperately grasping at anything that would give him an opportunity to question the other man on his involvement, despite the fact that both he and Rey had seen the message so many times now that they could recite it by heart.

"Kylo," she sighs, leaning back in her seat uncomfortably, attempting to shift into a more comfortable position before giving up on finding said—probably non-existent—position and reaching out to touch his hand. "Put it away," she tells him firmly. "I want to know who tried to hurt the baby as badly as you do, but watching this for the thousandth time will not bring us any closer to finding him."

Almost as though he senses her discomfort—which he probably _does_ —he shifts in his seat, his hand slipping around her waist until it rests on the small of her back. "It _bothers_ me," he grumbles, pressing his fingers down on a spot in her back that makes her eyes flutter shut and moan relief. "No one knows who was behind the attempt, and there is nothing stopping them from trying to hurt you again." His other hand rests on her belly, soothing the tense muscles there.

She sighs contently and leans into his touch. "Between you, Big Deal, and Esmé, no one could come close enough to try something like that again," she tells him matter-of-factly—it is, after all, the truth.

She's not been alone a single moment since the attempt, and it is quite overwhelming for her. She had, after all, spent _years_ on her own on Jakku before Kylo came back into her life, and she can't help but _miss_ those solitary moments these days. She thinks it would be incredibly relaxing if she didn't have to think about whoever else was in the room with her every time—even if it's just Big Deal or Esmé.

As it is, she can't even remember the last time she was alone.

Kylo's even joined her in her meditational trances now, his presence warm and comforting in the back of her mind, but very obviously _there_. She does not mind so much anymore, though—the last time they had meditated, Kylo had taught her how to seek out the little light that is still entwined with her own Force Signature, and she had learned to recognize the baby's thrilling little melody even when she is not meditating.

It is an immensely comforting feeling, the soft touch of her daughter's nearly-fully-formed mind against her own, more so, even, than the brush of Kylo's mind.

Kylo shifts his seat closer to hers as he senses her attention wandering towards the baby's Force Signature, his hands automatically gravitating towards her swollen belly, caressing the strained skin there until she sighs contently, leaning into his touch.

He _adores_ her belly—she had not paid much attention to it at first, but after a while she had noticed how he would _always_ be touching her belly.

It hardly matters where they are or who else is there with them—if they are in the same room, at some point, Kylo's hands will end up cupping her belly as though he's preparing to hold their child already. It warms her heart and annoys her at the same time, because she _loves_ that he is so attentive and caring and that he is _so_ in love with their child already, but her back constantly hurts, her breasts are heavy and _huge,_ and her belly is oversensitive, the skin stretched and strained, and she cannot find a comfortable position to sit in.

As though she needs reminding of that point, her back twinges painfully and an involuntary groan falls from her lips. "Ow," she moans, wrinkling her nose as she shifts again, the twinge in her back morphing into a lingering ache, despite her attempts to stretch it out.

She barely has time to complain about the ache before Kylo sweeps her out of her chair, squealing in surprise as she throws her arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly as he carries her to their bedroom. And she _would_ put up a fight, but it feels rather nice to be taken care of like this, and her feet are sore too, and she really just wants to curl up on their bed together and _cuddle_.

She barely even grumbles when he helps her out of the dress and into a large black tunic of his that stretches comfortably over the considerable expanse of her belly.

She settles under the sheets, swaddling herself like she would an infant, and watches, marginally more comfortable than she had been in the living area, as Kylo moves about the room to remove his boots, suspenders, and outer robe before he settles on the bed with her, wrapping her in his warm embrace.

"Better?" he asks, helping her onto her side before curling himself around her back and resting his hands on her belly, pressing his lips against the nape of her neck as her tense muscles relax.

"Much," she replies quietly, leaning back into his chest. Her eyes flutter shut of their own accord and, without consciously deciding to, she stretches out her mind until she's found the faint little ball of light that is her daughter, enveloping it with her own Force Signature until a warm, comforting, happy feeling spreads throughout her entire body and Kylo's mind brushes up against hers.

"She's happy," he muses, sounding vaguely surprised by the sentiment.

Rey hums softly, pressing back into Kylo's arms as she caresses her daughter's Force Signature with her own. "She's not as bright as you are," she remarks off-handedly, studying her husband's bright, nearly blinding, Force Signature compared to her daughter's soft, glowing little light.

Compared to Kylo's Force Signature, which feels almost as though she is staring into the hottest, brightest sun, her daughter's light feels like a distant star—small and bright, but distant and untouchable.

She feels Kylo shift uneasily behind her, and the sudden wave of _reluctance_ in the Force makes her turn in his arms, eyeing him nervously. "What is it?" she demands, pressing her hand to his cheek. "Is something wrong with her? Because her Force Signature is different?"

She had always just assumed that the baby's light was dimmer than Kylo's because her mind had not yet been fully developed—it's why she'd not mentioned it to Kylo before.

His response, however, causes worry to stir deep in the pit of her stomach.

"There's nothing _wrong_ ," he finally replies, obviously taking great care to choose his words before he speaks them aloud. His eyes are dark and guarded though, and his expression is hesitant and slightly pained. "It just… It _implies_ the baby might not…" He sighs and moves his hand up from where it had been resting on her belly to rub at his face before he continues. "She might not be Force-Sensitive."

"Is that—" Her heart sinks a little, because he looks _so_ upset by the idea of their daughter not sharing in their Force-Sensitivity, and she honestly does not care _at all_ , but it looks like he _does_ , and she doesn't know what to think or do about that. "Is that a bad thing?" She finally finishes, eyeing him cautiously as he rests his hand on her belly once again.

His eyes widen, and his surprise resonates through the Force as he stammers, "N—no! No, I've known all along, and it doesn't matter to me. She's our baby; I'll love her no matter what! I just thought—" He breaks off and looks away, a blush rising high on his pale cheeks.

Rey squeaks indignantly when she realizes what he isn't saying and reaches out to lightly slap his chest. "You thought it would matter to _me_?"

"No! I just didn't know how you would feel about it." He chuckles, grinning up at her when she pushes at his shoulders until he is on his back. She maneuvers herself onto his lap, wriggling until she's seated rather comfortably and his fingers are tightening on her hips, his tight grip nearly bruising the tender skin—but she doesn't mind.

It's been far too long since they'd been able to take pleasure in one another.

Even on their wedding night, she had been too uncomfortable to partake in usual wedding night traditions.

 _Now_ , though… Now she feels like pinning Kylo down and taking what she wants from him, until she's breathless with pleasure and unable to remember her own name. Kylo's already growing harder beneath her, so she can't imagine him having _any_ issues with said course of action.

His lips are parted a little, his pupils dilated and his fingers twitching where they rest upon her hips, and she absolutely _loves_ that she has this effect on him, even while _very_ visibly pregnant and bigger than she's ever been in her entire life. She shoots him the cheekiest grin she can manage before leaning down so their lips can meet in an equally teasing and passionate kiss.

He groans a little against her lips when she tangles her fingers into his hair, tugging on it lightly, as she knows he likes, before she presses her tongue softly against the seam of his lips.

He's admitted to liking it when she dominates him—or when she _tries_ to—and she absolutely _loves_ the thrill of having this powerful, strong man at her mercy. She can feel the moment he resigns to her dominance when he parts his lips to let her tongue slip in to ravage his mouth, moving one of his hands up to tangle in her hair as he lowers the other until it rests on her thigh.

Her heart _pounds_ , high in her throat, and she breaks the kiss abruptly, panting as she sits up again, attempting to catch her breath a little. Kylo sits up with her, sliding one hand up over her thigh and beneath her— _his_ —tunic, leaving her skin tingling and burning in its wake, and pressing hot, openmouthed kisses down the column of her throat.

He bites down on a particularly sensitive piece of skin, and she surprises herself with the growling little noise that falls from her lips in response.

Kylo stiffens beneath her at the sound, groaning against her neck before he breathes, " _Rey_ ," in the rawest, most desperate tone she's ever heard from him. She moans again, tugging at his hair softly until he looks up at her, so she can press their lips together in another desperate kiss.

"Kylo," she whines against his lips, gasping when his fingers tug at one of her ridiculously sensitive nipples, arousal rushing through her veins, her hips rocking against his easily despite her now-sizable belly between them. "I love you," she mutters between kisses, shoving him flat on his back again after she's pulled off his shirt, drawing her lip between her teeth as she stares at the _beautiful_ man that lays beneath her—strong and handsome and _hers_.

He's leaving for a new mission in less than three hours, she remembers, and they were supposed to spend this time together to go over her schedule for the days he might be gone, but she honestly cannot bring herself to _care_ —she has her husband in their bed, and she's comfortable enough to actually _do_ something with him for the first time in a while, and she's not taking that for granted.

She'll be safe with Big Deal protecting her, and Kylo will be safe with Big Deal's old squad watching his back—she had tried to convince Big Deal to join Kylo and his old squad, just this once, but he'd stubbornly refused, citing that his place was by _her_ side, protecting _her_.

She snaps from her thoughts when he traces his finger down her cheek sweetly, leaning into his touch. A smile tugs his lips up and she grins down at him in reply, stroking her own fingers down his cheek. "I'll miss you while you're gone," she tells him seriously, her heart clenching a little at the thought of having to part from him for the first time since they'd gotten married.

Their wedding had hardly been worthy of the name—they'd asked for an officiant and had Eight-Seven and Esmé as witnesses, and that was that—but she hadn't minded.

All she'd wanted was to be Kylo's wife.

And now she is.

His smile drops and his eyes darken a little before he sits up, slipping his arm around her waist as he presses their foreheads together. "I'll be back in less than twenty-four hours," he whispers against her lips. "It's a short, intelligence-gathering mission. In and out. And you can _always_ reach out and feel me through the Force, Rey. Whenever you need to."

"I know," she nods, pressing herself against him as tightly as she can with her belly between them. "I just don't like it. I wish you didn't have to go again."

He doesn't reply, only presses his lips against hers in a soft kiss, his hands cupping her cheeks gently.

It doesn't remove the ache lodged in her chest, nor does it make her feel better about their impending separation, but it is comforting to know that she'll be able to _feel_ him even if he's not there with her. "Now," he smirks, raising an eyebrow at her. "I think we were on the verge of doing _much_ more pleasant things than discuss the upcoming mission."

She chuckles, if only because the smirk and eyebrow lift look entirely ridiculous on him, before letting him roll her over onto her back, wedging himself between her spread thighs. "Were we?" She bites her lower lip again, slipping her arms around his neck as he leans down to kiss her again.

"We _were_ ," he insists, pressing several short, searing kisses against her lips. "Let's get back to it."

"Gladly."

.

.

.

**TWO DAYS LATER**

"What about Abidemi?"

Rey wrinkles her nose a little in distaste and shakes her head at Eight-Seven before turning her attention back to Esmé, who is currently fitting her for a new tunic and trousers. "I don't think so," she muses, lifting her arm when Esmé taps it gently. "I don't quite like the sound of that."

Eight-Seven sighs and sits on the couch opposite to where she and Esmé are standing, flipping idly through the pages of baby names on the datapad. "Bisi?"

Rey hums thoughtfully, carefully considering the short name.

"It would be appropriate," Esmé comments off-handedly as she pins up the sleeve of Rey's tunic. "It means 'the firstborn'. I suppose it is gender neutral, but I have only heard it used for boys on Naboo."

Rey raises an eyebrow as she considers the older woman, eyeing her curiously. She'd realized, a few days previously, that she knows precious few details about Esmé's life on Naboo, and that she had never really bothered to ask—she'd wondered if that made her a bad person and a bad friend, but both Kylo and Eight-Seven had assured her that it was perfectly normal to have other things on her mind. "Do you have any names in mind?" she asks, turning away from Esmé when the woman taps her hip softly.

When Esmé remains silent for a moment, Rey exchanges a quick glance with Eight-Seven, who also looks rather intrigued by the prospect of learning something more about Esmé's life.

"My husband and I would like a daughter," Esmé finally says, her words slowly and clearly measured out before she speaks them. "Our son, Icharo, is three—," Rey nearly chokes on her own spit at _that_ , "and he's expressed a desire for a little sister _many_ times. He has even picked a name for her—Ebelé."

"I—" Rey hesitates, drawing her lip between her teeth. "I didn't know you were married, or that you have a son."

Esmé chuckles—Rey supposes her astonishment must be quite a sight—and helps her slip off the tunic without pulling out any of the pins she had pinned in the soft fabric. "We've not had much opportunity to talk about it, have we? I look forward to seeing them both again when we return to Naboo."

"I can imagine," Rey whispers quietly, guilt churning in the pit of her stomach at the thought of Esmé having been separated from her family on Rey's behalf—they've been aboard the _Finalizer_ for over six months already, and it must be pure _agony_ for the other woman to be away from her husband and child for so long. "I don't know how you do it," she admits softly, wringing her hands uncomfortably. "Being away from Kylo for even a few days is nearly unbearable, I couldn't—"

She breaks off and shakes her head, unwilling to complete that sentence.

She looks up when Esmé pats her cheek gently, offering her a wide grin. "I gladly work for you and your husband. I miss my husband and my son, but they understand—we have been in the employ of the Naberrie family for years, and we will _gladly_ carry that service into the next generation of his family." Rey smiles shakily when Esmé cups her belly and the baby kicks against the older woman's hand.

"Besides," Esmé grins broadly and glances to where Eight-Seven is sitting, buried in what is undoubtedly yet another medical book, evidently distracted from their search for a name for her daughter. "A woman knows how to keep herself entertained in the absence of her husband."

Rey recognises that look, and while she agrees—Eight-Seven gets flustered _so_ easily it's equal parts hilarious and adorable—she doesn't want to unnerve her friend today, when he's so very clearly worried about his old squad being on a mission with Kylo.

"Esmé," she hisses as she clutches the woman's arm. "Leave him alone today."

"What?" Esmé smirks at her, her expression serene and composed and so obviously anything _but_ innocent. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Rey sighs in exasperation and shakes her head. "He's worried about his squad mates," she says, eyeing Esmé carefully, and not once buying into the wide, innocent eyes the elder woman is giving her. "Go easy on him, okay? Please don't push him too far."

Esmé drops the act in favor of a self-satisfied grin. "I'm sorry, he's just too easy. I'll be nice. Go change."

Rey groans in defeat, although she has to admit that watching Esmé flirt with a man half her age, who could not be _less_ interested in her, is rather entertaining. Eight-Seven always stutters and blushes as he tries to politely decline any—insincere—offers she makes without hurting her feelings or insulting her.

"Fine," she grumbles, "but no tears when I come back out!"

She catches Esmé's mischievous chuckle and sees her move towards where Eight-Seven is sitting on the couch before she has reached the bedroom, and even when the door hisses shut behind her, she can hear the soft murmuring of their conversation.

She rolls her eyes a little at their antics and wiggles into comfortable, soft leggings, boots, and a tunic with sleeves that covers her arms up to her elbows, leaving the intricate tattoo that wraps around her left wrist and up to her ring finger exposed—in lieu of wedding rings, she and Kylo had instead chosen for a more permanent mark, and had designed a tattoo together.

After the ceremony, they'd gotten the designs tattooed, and though she has to admit it had stung a little, the little ache had been well worth it—seeing her name and design in thin, graceful black lines on Kylo's pale skin had awoken a possessive part of her that she hadn't even known existed until then.

Thinking of Kylo makes her feel a tad sullen, though—she is still rather upset that she couldn't convince Big Deal to accompany Kylo to keep an eye on him—so she shakes those thoughts off and heads back to the living area, fully expecting to find a blushing and uncomfortable Eight-Seven and a rather smug and gloating Esmé.

"—only interested in men, are you?" Esmé's voice rings out as the door hisses open. "Well, what if you _weren't_?" Rey stops in the doorway, a little startled by the direct question—as is Eight-Seven, if the choked noise that falls from his lips is any indication—and more than a little curious to hear his response.

She peeks around the corner, nearly choking on her repressed laughter at the expression on his face. "I'm afraid _not_ being attracted to men is not quite an option, ma'am."

Esmé laughs, and Rey grins a little. "Fair enough, I suppose. Then, what if I were a man?"

His eyes widen just marginally, before a calculating expression appears on his face, his full lips pursing as he considers that question. He crosses his arms over his chest, and Rey's attention is drawn to the straining fabric of his shirt and the bulging muscles beneath the black fabric—she catches Esmé staring as well, jaw a little ajar, and she narrowly suppresses a chuckle.

"You're asking me what I would do if you were a man that I was very much attracted to?" Eight-Seven finally speaks, and Rey's jaw drops when he deliberately lowers his voice and leans closer to Esmé, drawing his lower lip between his teeth in a _very_ consciously seductive move.

"Yes," Esmé breathes, eyes wide, completely frozen in her seat.

He reaches out to stroke one of Esmé's unruly black curls behind her ear, his fingers lingering upon her cheek before he answers, and Rey has to try her hardest not to burst into laughter and ruin his moment of revenge—he's clearly decided to get back at Esmé for the many times she'd flirted with him and flustered him in the past.

"It's really simple, actually," he says huskily. "I'd take you back to our bunks—maybe even a supply closet if I were feeling particularly adventurous—and completely _ravish_ you until you couldn't remember anything but the feel of my body on yours; _in_ yours; and the pleasure would be so overwhelming you'd _scream_ my name so loudly that every trooper in the vicinity would know who you belonged to."

Rey exhales shakily when he finishes speaking and, though she can't quite see Esmé's face from this angle, she knows it's not much of a stretch to assume the woman's cheeks are burning as much as her own are—even more so, since Eight-Seven's words were actually directed towards her—and her breathing just as faint and ragged.

"Oh," Esmé breathes, "that's—well—"

Before she can finish though, Eight-Seven leans back rather abruptly and picks up the datapad before resuming his reading. "Of course, since you're _not_ a man," he remarks nonchalantly, "the whole point is moot."

Rey can't stop the startled bark of laughter that falls from her lips at that, despite Esmé's surprised stuttering and Eight-Seven's undignified _squeak_ when he realises she's heard the whole thing.

"Lady Rey." Esmé shoots to her feet and begins collecting the materials and half-finished items of clothing. "I think I have sufficient measurements to finish your new garments now. I'll just—leave you to it. Good day, milady." Before Rey can say anything, she's out the door, trailing light fabrics behind her, leaving Rey and Big Deal standing together in a rather stunned silence.

"Lady Rey," he speaks after a short silence, "I apologize, I didn't mean any offense or—"

She grins and waves her hand dismissively before resting it on her protruding belly as she settles on the sofa next to him. "Don't worry about it," she grins, "She totally deserved it." He settles back down on the sofa with her and offers her a timid smile—a pale shade of the seductive smile he'd unleashed upon Esmé earlier—as he fumbles with the datapad on his lap.

"I didn't know you could talk _dirty_ like that, though," Rey giggles, bumping her shoulder against his playfully, relieved when he throws his head back and _laughs_ , deep and loud, like she's never heard him laugh before. He sounds genuinely _happy_ and _amused_ and that makes _her_ happy and smile.

"I'm not _completely_ innocent, you know?" He tells her with a grin. "Plus," he holds up the datapad with a slightly sheepish smile, "The anatomy book I checked out…" He scratches the back of his neck in an adorably awkward gesture and chuckles, "Not the kind of anatomy study I thought it was."

"Oh. _Oh,"_ she breathes, eyes wide with surprise before they both burst into helpless peals of laughter.

They fall into easy banter after and, while he's not Kylo, she does enjoy spending time with him, and she likes the way he makes her laugh when telling her of some of the antics he and his old squad had gotten up to. Stormtroopers may be trained to obey orders and to be the best human weapon possible, but it seems that even hormone suppressors, threats of reconditioning, and public punishments can't keep teenaged boys and girls from creating all sorts of mischief.

"You didn't!" Rey gasps, staring at Eight-Seven wide-eyed after he finishes telling her about getting caught half-naked in a supply closet with Slip, one of his former squad mates. "And Phasma let you go?"

He smiles broadly and shrugs. "I _was_ her favorite, I guess. She let us off with a warning and a reminder not to get _attached_." His smile falters a little at that, and Rey's heart squeezes painfully as she reaches out to touch his hand.

"I take it you weren't able to take that advice?" She asks delicately, carefully, a little unsure if it is an answer she wants to hear at all.

"I love him," Eight-Seven whispers quietly, as though he is admitting to the most atrocious sin, eyes wide and filled with unbridled emotion. "Not like you love Lord Ren and he loves you, but—" he falls silent at that, his expression distant and contemplative, and she wishes that there is _something_ she can do to ensure he and this Slip get a chance to develop their relationship.

Before she could second-guess the wisdom of such a thing, she resolves to ask Kylo if he could possibly arrange another bodyguard for her.

Surely, if she requested Slip, he'd accept it?

"I'm not supposed to," Eight-Seven continues, wringing his hands uncomfortably. "Troopers aren't supposed to form emotional attachments, especially not for your own squad members—they reassign you when you get caught." He jumps when she takes his hand in hers again, but also looks a bit bolder as he tells her more about Slip—who is, apparently, far from the perfect Stormtrooper.

"He's so accident prone," Eight-Seven chuckles, "even on exercise runs. Phasma didn't like it, but I usually covered for him when he would trip again—I mean… I can't really leave him behind, either. Or… I couldn't… Before—" He doesn't need to finish—she knows what he had been about to say.

Before he had been requested to guard her instead.

They fall into silence after that, both sinking into their thoughts as they each consider the impossibility of leaving behind the men they love—Rey's heart aches at the mere thought of it, and she's fairly certain it makes Eight-Seven feel a little nauseated too, considering the fact that Slip believes that Eight-Seven did _exactly_ that—abandon and leave him behind.

After a short silence, he speaks, but his voice is hoarse and soft and she needs to strain to hear him. "Did I ever tell you?" he starts, turning around to face her and leaning back against the arm of the sofa. "Did I ever really explain why I decided my loyalties were to you and Lord Ren rather than the First Order?"

Her heart clenches a little at the reminder that his friendship and loyalty to her had been something they hadn't been able to count on once, even though she _knows_ she can trust him now—but she shakes her head anyway, because obviously there is something very significant to him about the moment he made that decision.

He smiles weakly and closes his eyes as he whispers, "I thought—when I was first told Lord Ren asked for my service record and wanted to transfer me to a different unit, I was _terrified_." He laughs nervously, avoiding her eyes, and Rey shifts awkwardly when she realizes that to him, her husband was a volatile and terrifying individual—a superior with a known tendency to cut down troopers in his way.

"Then why did you? Change your mind, that is." Her voice is brittle and weak and she _hates_ that, but she needs to know. It's an unhealthy fascination, but she _needs_ to know why he chose to believe in _her_ of all people—a scavenger girl from Jakku who's never done anything special in her life.

His face is arranged in a carefully blank mask that she absolutely _loathes_ , but he shrugs slowly, biting his full bottom lip as he considers his reply. "Because of you," he says slowly, "you were _different_. You decided I was a person rather than a serial number. You wanted to give me a _name_ —a choice…" He hesitates, and Rey is almost afraid to say anything that might snap him from whatever mood he is in, because he hasn't spoken this honestly and openly with her _ever_ and she _wants_ to know.

"You're a genuinely good person," he shrugs. "Fighting for _you_ seemed like a better destiny than dying for the First Order—at least you _care_. If I die—at least it'll have been for a good cause. You'll _care_."

She pales a little at his words—she can't _believe_ he thinks throwing his lot in with her, possibly dying for her one day, would be a better fate than he would have had had he continued his education as a Stormtrooper. Kylo had told her, once, that Eight-Seven had had the potential to one day become a General if he played his cards right, for Force's sake!

She contemplates what she could say to explain to him how she feels about him—how she sees and values—but, for the first time ever, her words fail her, and all she can do is stare at him.

"Say something, Rey," Eight-Seven pleads, eyes wide and gleaming with tears. "Tell me I'm not wrong."

"Of course you're not wrong," she exclaims passionately, crawling over the sofa to sit next to him, "You're my best friend; of course I _care_! I want you to _live_ , to get everything you've ever wanted out of life!" Her fingers tremble as she raises them to touch his cheek, and she feels increasingly uncomfortable under his emotional, scrutinizing gaze, but refuses to pull away.

"I am _so_ happy you're here with me," she whispers softly, her gaze never once leaving his, "and I'm _so_ grateful you're on my side, but I don't _ever_ want you to _die_ for me."

He offers her a sincere, pleased smile, before hesitantly leaning in to hug her—he's never actually done that before, possibly for fear of what Kylo might do to him—but she doesn't miss that he avoids making a promise. He doesn't tell her that he won't die for her, or that he'll be careful while on duty to protect her—he just hugs her close, but for the first time since they'd met, she is completely at ease beneath his touch.

"Just be careful, okay?" she whispers, squeezing her arms around his middle before pulling back.

The _bright_ , _hot_ burn of Kylo's Force Signature suddenly blazes in the back of her mind, _closer_ than he's been since he left, and she _knows_ he's back on the _Finalizer_ ; that he's coming back to see her. "He's back," she breathes in relief, clumsily getting to her feet and rushing towards the door.

Before she gets there, it hisses open and reveals Kylo, still dressed in dark robes and his dented mask—but what catches her attention is the singed edge of his sleeve, the fine layer of dust that covers his entire body, and something that looks suspiciously like blood dripping onto the durasteel floor.

"Oh Force," she chokes, before rushing forward to _touch_ him, to ensure he's _okay_ and that none of the blood is _his_. "Are you okay?" She tiptoes and presses the buttons to release his mask before he can, tearing it off of him and tossing it onto the floor carelessly.

"Rey," he groans, hands slipping up to cup her shoulders as she presses insistent kisses on his lips, cheek, neck and anywhere else she can reach, because he has to be _unharmed_.

She can't stand the thought of him being hurt.

"Rey," he repeats, grabbing her shoulders a little tighter, forcing her to look up at him, and for the first time, she realises his eyes are a little red rimmed and he looks _tired_ , and all she wants is to erase that look from his face. "I'm fine," he insists, before leaning in to press a lingering kiss to her lips.

She relishes in the soft press of his lips for a long, calm moment before he pushes her back and stares at her _so_ intensely a shiver runs down her spine.

"We don't have much time," he says seriously. "Be quiet and listen—" He glances past her, to where Big Deal is undoubtedly still standing—she realises quite suddenly that she probably made quite a fool of herself in front of him—and adds, "Both of you."

"What?" She blurts, eyes wide as she stares at him. "Kylo, what's going on? What happened?"

"Please, Rey," Kylo speaks seriously, "Sit. I'll explain everything, but I need you to _sit_."

Rey nods reluctantly, though she eyes him suspiciously, as Kylo guides her back towards the sofa, his hand soft and insistent on the small of her back—it's hardly like she's incapable of getting there herself, but she's aware that he likes to feel like he's taking care of her.

"FN-2187," Kylo turns to Eight-Seven, who's still standing by the door, as though he's unsure of what Kylo expects of him now that he's returned—usually Kylo immediately dismisses him, and Rey has to admit she's rather curious as well as to why he hasn't done so yet this time. "Have a seat," Kylo gestures towards the second sofa, and Rey has to struggle not to stare at him—Kylo has _never_ treated Eight-Seven as anything other than an employee before, and it's _astonishing_ to see him try now.

Eight-Seven gapes at Kylo for approximately half a second before he manages to snap his jaw shut and nod sharply. "Of course, sir," he replies tightly as he sits down on the smaller sofa, hands folded awkwardly on his lap as they wait for Kylo to speak and explain what is going on.

"Before I go into detail," Kylo begins slowly, eyes darting between Rey and Eight-Seven several times, "I'll need to establish that you are fully loyal to me and Rey, and _only_ us." He pauses to take a breath, and Rey frowns, unsure as to what exactly he's implying, when he continues. "I would like to trust you fully, but I cannot, unless you allow me access to your mind."

"Kylo!" Rey exclaims, jaw dropping in astonishment—how _dare_ he presume that they can't trust Eight-Seven? He's saved her life and the baby's already, and he's her friend and she _trusts_ him—as she struggles to sit up, despite her belly hindering the movement.

She startles when he turns to _glare_ at her, an expression on his face that she's _never_ seen from him before—fear. For the first time, it really sinks in that whatever they got caught up in, whatever he's preparing to tell them now, it's _serious_ and probably dangerous and it scares the kriff out of Kylo—and that fact alone is more than enough to make her own heart pound with fear and uncertainty.

Eight-Seven stands before she can say anything else, even though she's not even sure what she would have said in the first place, eyes focused on Kylo as he says, "Do it. Go ahead—do whatever you have to. I understand." She watches the two men with a slightly slackened jaw, and she feels a tendril of _something_ pass through the Force, an understanding of sorts that she knows she couldn't even begin to comprehend, even if she tried.

"Sit," Kylo orders Eight-Seven in a surprisingly gentle fashion, gesturing back towards the sofa Eight-Seven had previously occupied. "This will be uncomfortable, so you will want to sit." Rey swallows thickly and curls her arms around herself as she feels the Force _flare_ when Kylo pushes his way into Eight-Seven's mind.

The younger man winces and clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. Kylo's eyes are shut and the hand he's extended towards Eight-Seven is shaking slightly, and Rey can feel just how much energy this little _inspection_ is costing him.

Just when she wants to interfere, Kylo exhales and drops his hand, stumbling back a few paces as Eight-Seven relaxes into the soft cushions. "Very good," Kylo nods shakily. "I need you to prepare travel packs for yourself and Lady Rey. Be inconspicuous about it, and don't take anything that will be missed. Be sure to pack enough rations for four days—and ask Esmé which clothes she would recommend to bring for Rey; she's been informed of the situation. Do it fast and then return. Lady Rey will inform you of the rest of the plan once you've returned."

Eight-Seven glances towards Rey, but she's as lost as he is, and he seems to realise that right away. "Of course. I'll arrange that right away." He steps around Kylo and hurries out of the room.

He has barely left before Kylo crosses the room in two large strides, pulling her up from the sofa and into his arms, one hand cupping her cheek, tilting her head up to press their lips together in a slightly desperate kiss, and the other cradling her belly. "We don't have much time," he whispers against her lips. "And I want to explain everything, but—"

He breaks off, a shuddering breath falling from his lips as he presses their foreheads together.

"You found a way out," she whispers, her heart dropping as tears burn in her eyes. "You found me a way out." His silence is deafening, but the only confirmation she needs. "I won't go," she says stubbornly, pushing him back to glare at him. "I am _not_ leaving you again, Kylo."

He sighs heavily before gesturing towards the sofa, guiding her back down onto the soft pillows before curling up next to her. "Rey, you have to. We don't have a choice—someone on this ship wants the baby dead, and they're not shying away from killing you too if that's what it takes."

She shakes her head stubbornly, clutching his still-gloved hands in hers on her lap. "We're in this _together_ , Kylo! I'm not _leaving_." She _knows_ she sounds desperate and that he wouldn't be sending her away unless he has a very compelling reason to, but the idea of having to face being a parent _without_ Kylo by her side is absolutely terrifying and she can't even consider it without feeling nauseated.

" _Listen to me,"_ Kylo growls, shaking her slightly, _anger_ and _fear_ and _desperation_ rolling off of him in waves, nearly smothering her with their intensity. "I _know_ Hux is behind the last attempt, and I'm _sure_ Snoke had a hand in it as well, and _I can't protect you both_."

She sobs dryly, leaning forward into his arms until her foreheads is pressed against his collarbone and his arms are draped around her shoulders, their bodies entangled as tightly as possible with her rather large belly between them. "I don't want to go," she whimpers against him, wrinkling her nose at the scent of dried sweat, soot, and blood that hangs in his robes.

"I don't want you to," he replies softly, and it is the only time she's heard him this close to tears, "but you have to—we have to do what's best for the baby, even if it's not the easiest thing for you and me."

She squeezes her eyes shut and exhales shakily, because he's _right_ —of course he is, they're parents, and they need to do whatever they can to keep the baby safe—but she doesn't _want_ him to be, because it _hurts_ , and she doesn't want to leave him behind.

"I'll come for you," he whispers, his lips pressing to the top of her head in an achingly sweet gesture that invokes a new round of sobs. "I'll take care of everyone who wants to hurt you and the baby—and then I'll come back for you."

"Promise me," she says hoarsely, curling her fingers into the front of his robe as she looks up at him through teary eyes. "Promise me that you'll come back for me."

"I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Looks like I was wrong :D   
> This is the second to last chapter, because it was getting far too long, so I split it :D  
> Thanks for the love and support!
> 
> You guys are awesome!
> 
> Speaking of awesome people, a huge thank you to Meaghan (Juulna) for being an awesome beta and an excellent friend!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please leave a comment!
> 
> Love, Annaelle


	10. Chapter 10

# "Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark."  
—George Iles

Rey swallows thickly as the door to what had been her _home_ for six, long, amazing months hisses shut, separating her from Kylo, who is likely still seated on the sofa in the living area, face buried in his hands because he couldn’t _watch_ as she walked away from him, even though they were only going through with the separation to ensure their child’s safety.

She leans back against the cold durasteel door as another tear rolls down her cheek, pressing her head back against the unrelenting steel so hard it _stings_ —but she is grateful for the discomfort. It draws her attention away from the burning ache lodged in her chest and the echoes of Kylo’s hurt through the Force.

She _knows_ that this is the right thing to do, but she never really expected it to _hurt_ quite so much.

“ _My mother may be many things, but she won't let any harm come to you or our daughter. Go to her—she'll protect you; even from Luke, if she has to.”_

Kylo's words are stuck on loop in her head, and she can't quite imagine what she's supposed to say to her husband’s mother when they meet—what does one say to the woman who allowed her son to be separated from his best friend as a child?

Who would have allowed Luke to do Force knows what to her—a seven-year-old little girl—in order to prevent her son’s fall to the Dark Side?

What is she supposed to _do_ if Leia Organa-Solo refuses to believe her when she tells her who she is?

“La—Rey?”

Eight-Seven hesitantly squeezes her arm, drawing her from her painful, spiralling thoughts. It doesn't escape her notice that he's finally starting to call her Rey, and while it makes her _want_ to smile, she doesn't think she'll remember _how_ to for a while.

“Right,” she exhales shakily, forcing herself to cut off her connection to Kylo and straightening as she looks at Eight-Seven, who is armed as he usually is—blaster strapped to his hip, vibroblade in the sheath on his thigh and a smaller blaster in his hand—and carrying a small, inconspicuous backpack, undoubtedly filled with everything he could find on such short notice.

She clutches the little bundle of things—her collection of things for the baby—tightly to her chest, nodding to herself a few times before she manages to convince herself that she _needs_ to be strong now.

“Let's go,” she tells Eight-Seven tersely, her attempt at a smile feeling more like a grimace than an actual smile. “Pretend we’re just going for a walk about the ship while Kylo’s training. There shouldn't be an issue.” He nods and falls into step beside her, silence permeating the space between them, as Rey tries not to be painfully aware of the fact that each step takes her and her daughter further away from her husband—her daughter’s _father—_ her heart—Kylo—her _home._

The irony of that realisation is not lost on her.

It seems only appropriate that she only realises a home is not in a certain place but with a person—hers lies with Kylo and their baby—when she needs to leave part of it behind.

It requires more strength than anything else she has ever done.

However difficult it is though, she _will_ do it—she needs to put her daughter’s needs before her own, unlike what any of her own  caregivers had done for her. If Leia Organa-Solo is the only person in the galaxy who will insure their safety while Kylo works to take down Snoke and Hux, Rey is more than willing to set aside her personal grievances with the Skywalker twins—even though Luke is likely not even with Leia.

She sighs and shakes that train of thought, glancing instead towards Big Deal, who is still beside her, his gait confident and unrushed, though she can tell he is more than a little uncomfortable. “Did Esmé tell you what the plan is?” She asks quietly, bending her head towards him in an attempt to keep their words somewhat private.

“Not really,” he replies sadly, “but I gathered it would take us away from the First Order.”

Rey nods silently, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as she waits for him to elaborate. She may only have spent a few months with Eight-Seven so far, but she’d quickly realised that he was absolutely terrible at controlling his facial expressions—a lingering effect of spending most of his life wearing a helmet, undoubtedly. She can tell that he is feeling conflicted about leaving the _Finalizer_ , perhaps in a lesser, different way than she is, and she knows he’ll tell her what he is thinking without further prompting soon.

“You know I will follow you wherever you wish to go,” he finally says, eyeing her nervously, as though he fears she’ll blame him for being reluctant to leave the only home he’s ever known.

“Of course I know that,” she reassures him, reaching out to grasp his arm.

He sends her a small, sad smile before he continues, “I just… I’ll miss Slip, I think. It wasn’t so long ago that he was all I had—all I thought I would ever have, even if it was forbidden.” The Force thrills with his sadness and longing, and Rey winces a little at the blatant similarity of their feelings.

“I understand,” she whispers, slipping her hand down his arms until her fingers curl around his. “I didn’t think I’d ever have to leave Kylo again, either. I have to do this, but if you want to stay, I can—”

“I’m going with you,” he interrupts her with a fierce look, his fingers tightening around hers. “You’re not doing this by yourself—and while your husband is trying to make the galaxy safe, I will keep _you_ safe.” She notes that they’ve stopped walking in the middle of the hallway, hands tangled together as they glare at each other with damp eyes.

“You _are_ a bucket brain,” Rey informs him without any heat behind the words, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips, despite her best effort _not_ to smile.

He grins back, bumping his shoulder against hers playfully as he says, “Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

She snorts, but doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, she drops his hand and nods towards the other end of the hallway. “We should keep going, or—” she says, the implication of her words lingering heavily in the air between them. If they wait too long, their window will pass, and they’ll get caught trying to escape the First Order’s flagship—and she does _not_ want to imagine what Hux will do to them then.

“Right,” Eight-Seven nods, adjusting the strap of the backpack as they start walking again. “Esmé gave me a comlink,” he tells her after a short silence. “In case we need her. Its broadcasts can’t be traced, so if we do use it, the First Order won’t be able to track us.”

Rey is hit by an unexpected wave of emotion at that, gratitude and regret and _love_ warring for the upper hand in her mind, and she wishes she would have had enough time to offer Esmé genuine gratitude for everything the older woman had already done for her and Kylo—for everything she is still willing to do for them, regardless of the possible backlash of Rey’s actions.

She has no doubt that Hux will want to interrogate Esmé to see if she was aware of Rey’s plans to _escape_.

Kylo won’t let anything happen to Esmé, Rey knows, but it makes her nervous to think that the other woman will have to endure an interrogation at Hux’s hands Rey’s behalf. She has no doubt that Esmé knows she’ll be interrogated, too, and for the woman to still offer the comlink, despite the trouble she and Kylo have undoubtedly caused her already, means _everything_ to Rey.

“I’ll miss her,” Rey admits sullenly, rubbing her hand over her stomach. “She always said she’d teach me lullabies for the baby, but she never did get around to it.” Thinking of that makes her feel a little melancholic, and she wishes once again that she could just spend more time with Esmé—that she could take the woman with her indefinitely, so she’d have her advice on motherhood and life in general available always.

“She taught them to me,” Eight-Seven blurts, and Rey stares at him open-mouthed before he seems to realise what he’s said. He scratches the back of his neck nervously and offers her a tiny smile. “That was supposed to be a surprise—though I guess… She taught me the lullabies a while ago, after I found her singing one to herself—” he wrinkles his nose in thought and adds, “Now that I think about it, she was probably making a recording for her husband and son.”

Her heart squeezes and, before she can stop herself, she stops them in the middle of the hallway again, ignoring the startled techies, who’d been hurrying along behind them and needed to swerve around them in order not to collide with them, as she throws her arms around Eight-Seven in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” she whispers, tears burning in her eyes as his arms hesitantly come up to encircle her waist.

He doesn't say anything, instead choosing to hug her tighter for a moment before he leans back and cautiously glances down the corridor, frowning at the two troopers that are hesitating to pass them.

She grins sheepishly when he releases her and runs her fingers through her hair before they continue on their way, deeper into the bowels of the Star Destroyer. “So, what _is_ the plan?” He asks after they've rounded the corner and are alone again, eyeing her sideways. “I assume you do know.”

She snorts, shaking her head a little before she deadpans, “Something unimaginably _stupid.”_

.

.

.

The further they wander into the ship, the less people they encounter, and those that _do_ cross paths with them find themselves quickly diverted from their original destination, their memories slightly foggy and their intentions for straying from their usual duties startlingly unclear.

Rey _hates_ using the Force in such ways, and she absolutely loathes forcing her will onto others, but it’s the only way to make sure they won’t be prematurely discovered, sneaking about restricted areas and forbidden zones. With each officer and each faceless trooper that she manipulates, the Force strains a little more within her, and it makes her feel a little nauseous.

“Just a little further,” Eight-Seven remarks quietly, his finger twitching on the trigger of his blaster rifle. “You're sure we can trust this guy to help us?”

“No,” Rey admits grudgingly, wincing as the baby kicks at her ribs. “But Kylo does, and I trust him.”

Eight-Seven frowns for a long, tense moment before shrugging and shooting her a quick grin. “That's fair, I guess,” he replies as they round a corner and slow to a stop before one of the elevators that allows access to the detention and penitentiary area of the ship.

Before they can say anything else, they’re interrupted by the heavy stomp of metal-clad boots moving across durasteel floors, and Eight-Seven stiffens before turning on his heel, shoulders rolled back, chin tilted up and his back ramrod straight. “Captain Phasma,” he intones dully, and Rey’s heart drops as she whirls around to face the tall, chrome-armour-clad Stormtrooper captain.

She feels nauseated at the prospect of being forced to converse with the woman, especially since Rey is well aware that the woman reports directly to Hux, and she’s afraid she’s too nervous and jittery to come across as though she _isn’t_ about to do something incredibly stupid... like break out one of their highest-priority prisoners and steal a shuttle to hide out with the Resistance.

“FN-2187,” Phasma replies drolly, tilting her head to the side as she observes them. “Lady Rey. It is a pleasure to see you wandering about the ship again. I trust you feel your safety is certain with FN-2187?”

“Yes, of course,” Rey nods shakily, managing a weak smile as she rubs her belly nervously. “He’s an excellent guard. I do believe you’ve trained him very well.” Flattering the woman who had tried to strip Eight-Seven from everything that makes him _him_ feels unnatural and wrong, and she genuinely just wishes she could manipulate the woman into leaving them be as she had done with the others who had crossed their path, but Kylo had once told her that only the strong-willed were chosen as officers, precisely so that they could not be manipulated through the Force, and she does not fancy experimenting.

Phasma nods her head in gratitude before turning her attention back to Eight-Seven, who is still holding himself unnaturally still—like he had been taught to hold himself in front of superior officers, she realises uncomfortably, by the woman standing before them. “I meant to seek you out, FN-2187,” she tells him dispassionately as she pulls a datapad from the pouch on her belt. “As you may know, your former squad accompanied Lord Ren to Jakku on a mission of great importance. Two of them fell.”

Rey chokes and Eight-Seven gasps, paling quite noticeably as he takes the datapad Phasma is holding out to him with shaking hands. “Zeroes,” he whispers, eyes wide and disbelieving as he trails his fingers over the image of a dark-skinned man with a rather large, pale scar dissecting his face.

The Force roils with his shock and sadness, but it is his response to the second image that nearly brings them both to their knees. “No _. Slip_ ,” Eight-Seven’s voice cracks, and Rey can’t quite contain the gasp of pain that falls from her lips—he is projecting _wildly_ , and she can almost _feel_ his heartache as clearly as she can sometimes sense Kylo’s feelings.

It’s the strongest connection she’s made with anyone other than Kylo, and it frightens her a little, because she doesn’t want to _imagine_ how badly losing Kylo would hurt.

She eyes the datapad, watches as Eight-Seven’s fingers hover uncertainly above the image of a pale but handsome man, with sandy hair and hazel eyes, and wishes there was _anything_ she could do or say to take away the pain he’s in, but she knows enough to realise there’s nothing she _can_ do—Eight-Seven had confided in her that he believed his feelings for Slip had lessened in the time they’d spent apart, but  she thinks he may have forgotten that he spent his entire life with Slip.

They grew up together, shared everything with one another for a long time, and despite what he said, she _knows_ he loved— _loves_ —Slip.

“Ah yes,” Phasma sneers, “despite our best efforts, it seems we could not train him to be a stronger warrior. He fell when the Resistance pilot started shooting at the troopers—it intensified the pointless fight the villagers put up. Our troops were far superior to their untrained nerf herders, though, in the end. You should be pleased. They fell in service of the First Order, and their deaths will further our cause.”

Rey draws her lower lip between her teeth when Eight-Seven visibly flinches, once again wishing she could just send Phasma away so she could _hold_ Eight-Seven, to let him _cry_ and break down if he wants to— _needs_ to—in the presence of a friend rather than a judgemental authority figure.

“Thank you,” Rey intercedes on Eight-Seven’s behalf, offering Phasma a less than genuine smile. “It was considerate of you to inform FN-2187 of his former squadron’s fate.” Eight-Seven is quiet beside her, but she can sense that he is lost within his own mind, grief and anger and _guilt_ warring over one another as his eyes, wide and glassy with unshed tears, are riveted on the image of his deceased lover.  

Rey winces when she notes that Phasma is reaching out to take back the datapad, and takes a step forward, so she is blocking Eight-Seven from Phasma’s reach. “I’ll be sure to have your datapad returned to you by tonight, Captain. I don’t think we’re quite done reading the reports yet.”

Phasma hesitates for a moment, and Rey struggles not to show how _nervous_ the other woman makes her, desperately hoping that she’ll just accede to Rey’s wishes, before she nods and blatantly looks Rey up and down. “Do you need an escort to your chambers, milady? I am certain I can find a few troopers capable of providing you with ample protection.”

“That’s alright,” Rey forces a pleasant smile on her lips. “Kylo asked me to meet him in the training facilities, which is where we are headed now.” She turns and presses her hand to the fingerprint scanner by the elevator, praying to whatever deity that can hear her that Kylo is right and her fingerprints can get her into high-security levels too. “Thank you for your time, Captain.”

It’s the clearest, politest dismissal she can issue towards Phasma, and she hopes she has not overstepped her bounds by giving it—but the taller woman simply nods before turning on her heel and stomping off down the corridor, and Rey exhales in relief, leaning against the wall beside the elevator for a long moment to thank her lucky stars for their good fortune so far.

Eight-Seven is still frozen in the same position, fingers hovering above Slip’s image, and her heart _aches_ for him, and she wants nothing more than to slow down and let him grieve but there’s _no time_. “Big Deal,” she whispers, “We need to go.”

He jumps when she touches his arm cautiously, lowering the datapad while a tear runs down his cheek. “I should have been there.” His voice is rough, and Rey’s heart clenches as he squeezes her hand tightly. “You told me to go, and I should’ve gone—I could’ve—” He squeezes his eyes shut and inhales sharply, shaking his head as he stuffs the datapad in a pouch on his belt. “It doesn’t matter. I can—we need to go.”

“No,” Rey gapes at him, thunderstruck by his sudden mood swing. “Eight-Seven, it’s not—we can—”

“We can’t,” he interrupts her as the elevator doors slide open. “There’s not much time left until they’ll next go in for another interrogation, and we only have so long before they realise he’s missing.”

She swallows thickly, still unnerved by his sudden professionalism, but nods.

He is right, after all.

“Okay,” she replies shakily, “Okay.” They step inside the elevator, and Eight-Seven punches in the access code to send the elevator down before settling against the back wall, thumbs hooked in his belt as they rapidly descend to the lowest level on the ship—incidentally rather close to the hangar, too.

When they exit the elevator and enter the penitentiary wing, the baby starts kicking furiously, quite obviously affected by her own conflicted emotions. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she whispers as she rubs over her belly. “We’re going to be okay.” She notices that Eight-Seven has respectfully turned his head, granting her a last private moment before they break out the final member of their escape party.

His cell is only a few steps away from where they’re standing, and Rey is actually not sure what to expect from the man who had, apparently, been gutsy enough to fire a blaster shot at her husband and then sassed him even though he was handcuffed and on his knees, at Kylo’s mercy—a Resistance pilot—Poe Dameron.

“Are you ready, Rey?”

She allows herself a small smile, despite the _ache_ that is lodged deep within her chest, throbbing with each step she takes forward—each step that takes her further away from Kylo—a startling combination of her own hurt and Eight-Seven’s grief.

“No,” she admits quietly, rubbing her hand softly over her belly. “But I’ll make do. Let’s do this.”

With those words, she steps forward and presses her hand against the fingerprint scanner, breathing a soft sigh of relief when it blinks green at her and the door hisses open.

The sight that greets her is not entirely what she expected, and she stops just inside of the interrogation room, her jaw sagging a tad as she stares at the pilot strapped in the chair. The side of his face is matted with dried blood, and his eyes are shut, head lolling against the side of the chair.

His nose looks broken, and it looks like he’d been beaten quite severely.

“Lord Ren has ordered me to interrogate the prisoner,” she says, surprised by how even her voice sounds. She eyes the trooper that stands before her and decides she _can’t_ take the risk of him telling on her before she’s managed to get both Poe and Eight-Seven to the loading bay and into a shuttle.

She tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes at the trooper, gathering her hold on the Force—she’s noticed that it has become increasingly more difficult to sense the Force as she did before she was pregnant—slowly before she says, “You will leave the cell and forget you saw me here. When anyone asks you where you’re going, you’ll tell them you’re on sanitation duty.”

“I will forget I saw you here,” the trooper repeats her words mindlessly before he turns to leave the chamber, and she feel momentarily bad before she reminds herself that everything she is doing is for her child’s safety.

“You know,” Big Deal grins at her as he goes to check on Poe Dameron, who has yet to stir at their intrusion into his cell, “sometimes you are a very scary person.”

She chuckles, but does not say anything, instead focusing on calming her slightly erratic heartbeat—she feels shaken and unsteady, and she’s felt that way since she kissed Kylo goodbye, and she’s not entirely certain it’s a feeling she can just _shake_. She knows, though, that she has to try, because she needs to be strong and focused if she wants to pull this off successfully.

“Son of a Bantha,” a soft, hoarse voice breaks her from her thoughts, and she snaps her head up to see Poe Dameron sitting up, eyes heavy-lidded and dark as he stares at her, rubbing at his bruised wrists as Eight-Seven unlocks his ankle restraints. “He was telling the truth.” He gazes at her, his eyes still dark and suspicious as he regards her, before remarking,  sounding almost wistful, “You’re a lot younger than I thought you'd be.”

She swallows thickly before steeling herself and nodding curtly. “Yes, he was. Now I need you to listen to me _very carefully_. If you do exactly what I tell you, I can make sure you get out of here.”

Instead of listening though, Dameron frowns and demands, “Why? Why are _you_ helping _me_?”

She wraps her arms around her belly protectively and glares at him, as she replies, “My reasons are none of your business. All that should matter is that I’m going to get you out. Or would you prefer I just leave you here? I’m sure Big Deal wouldn’t mind tying you back up again.” Poe eyes flash over to where said man is standing, blaster raised threateningly, his eyes widening a little when he notices that he’s not wearing Stormtrooper armor or a helmet—and if she’s not mistaken, there’s just a thread of attraction thrilling through the Force between the two men, and isn’t that the most _interesting_ thing?

“Fine,” Poe finally replies, not once taking his eyes off of Big Deal. “What do you need me to do?”

She smiles beatifically at him, and she can tell it catches him off-guard—she can’t deny that makes her grin a little too.

She does so enjoy catching arrogant flyboys off-guard.  

“Can you fly an _Upsilon_ -class shuttle?” She asks, gesturing towards Eight-Seven to get out the handcuffs and to get ready to go to the loading bay.

He makes a face as Big Deal claps the cuffs on his bruised wrists, but allows the taller man to drag him into a standing position, eyeing her suspiciously. “I can fly anything,” he finally replies, a hint of cockiness sneaking into his tone. The insolent grin on his face looks absolutely ridiculous though, and when he raises his eyebrow at her, she can’t contain the snort of amusement that falls from her lips.

“Fine,” she shakes her head, straightening her tunic over her swollen belly as she checks that her blasters are still in place. “I just need you to co-pilot and to get me to Leia Organa.”

His eyebrow drifts up again, and she feels a little unnerved by the way he looks at her when he opens his mouth again and grins, “You sure you should be flying in your, ah, _delicate_ condition? I can pilot a shuttle just fine, if that’s your concern—they _do_ call me the best pilot in the Resistance for a reason.”

She snorts and shakes her head. “I’m sure. And you need _me_ to get out of the loading bay in the first place. You don’t even know whose shuttle we’re taking.” She eyes the bruised skin around his eye and the remnants of dried blood on his lip and nose, and gives him a broad grin. “I think you might just _love_ that most of all about all of this.” 

.

.

.

 _Luke Skywalker_.

Why does everything seem to come back to Luke _kriffing_ Skywalker?

 _Of course_ he needs to worm his way into her life, even when he’s not actually anywhere near her.

 _Of course_ Poe Dameron was on Jakku to retrieve a map that would lead them straight to Luke, and _of course_ Snoke had tasked Kylo with finding it. She really should have known that the man would manage to cause problems for her even from half a galaxy away, if Dameron’s droid—BB-8—is to be believed.

She sits cross-legged in the sand, leaning back against the wing of their—of _Hux’s—_ stolen shuttle as the astromech they’d come to retrieve presses against her leg. Eight-Seven and Dameron are standing a little away, caught up in what looks like a rather intense discussion. She thinks Eight-Seven would probably be capable of making a far more compelling case for himself if he weren’t currently wearing Dameron’s jacket, and if he weren’t eyeing the other man like he wants to jump him rather than argue with him.

Rey has to admit that she had thought Poe Dameron and Eight-Seven would get along just fine when they had first arrived on Jakku—the sun had been hanging low in the sky already, and the air around them had started to cool rapidly while they prowled about Niima Outpost to look for Poe’s wayward droid.

Eight-Seven, who had definitely _not_ been prepared for nights on Jakku, had barely had time to shiver before Dameron had taken off the old leather jacket he’d been wearing and tossed it over Eight-Seven’s shoulders, waving any and all protests Eight-Seven tried to offer—in response to Eight-Seven’s attempt to give it back once they’d found BB-8, Dameron had only looked at him, bit his lip and told Eight-Seven the jacket suited him.

Rey had nearly expected them to jump each other right then and there.

Instead, the almost-flirty conversation had devolved into angry words and not-quite violent shoving back and forth. “We need to leave the system _right now_ , before they figure out where we are on this Force-forsaken dust ball!” Eight-Seven exclaims angrily, poking his finger in Poe’s shoulder. “We got you out because you can get us to Leia Organa— _you said you would do it_!”

“The shuttle doesn’t have a hyperdrive, you _laserbrain_!” Dameron shouts back, shoving at Eight-Seven’s leather-clad shoulder. “We couldn’t leave the system before the First Order caught us in that thing even if we tried! We need a different ship—a _clean_ one if at all possible, _with_ a hyperdrive.”

“You know,” Rey interrupts calmly, resting one hand atop her belly and the other on BB-8’s head. “What we could really use is someone who lived here—who knows where we can get a ship.” She can see the beginnings of realisation and mortification in Eight-Seven’s eyes, and he opens his mouth as though he’s going to say something, but no words fall from his lips.

Dameron, on the other hand, snorts rather unattractively and tosses his hands up in frustration. “Yeah, that’d be great. Where are we going to find someone like _that_?” She simply raises an eyebrow at him, and it takes less than a second before his eyes widen almost comically, bulging out a little as he stammers, “Wait—you—but I thought—”

“Well, you thought wrong,” she deadpans, gratefully accepting Eight-Seven’s hand when she struggles to get to her feet. “I lived here for twelve years before Kylo found me.” She sighs heavily when she’s finally standing and rubs the back of her hand over her forehead as she glares at the gates to Niima Outpost. “The Blobfish has an entire yard full of ships we could choose from. If we offer him the shuttle, he’ll let us take whatever we want. We could probably barter in some extra rations, too.”

“Can we trust him?” Eight-Seven asks worriedly, his hand resting on her elbow as she wobbles through the loose sand towards the Concession Stand.

Rey snorts and grins at him, shaking her head. “Of course not. If Stormtroopers show up, he’ll probably be the first one to point them to where we are—but we _can_ trust his greed. He wants to have _everything_ , and preferably in the cheapest way he can manage it. The shuttle is worth ten of the ships he has in his yard, and he’ll know it too. He’ll give us anything as long as we play this right.”

She glances over her shoulder to Poe, with BB-8 right behind, and tells him, “That means you let me do the talking.”

He looks like he wants to protest, but BB-8 beeps something, quietly and quickly, so she can’t quite understand what is said, and he shuts his mouth again. “Fine,” he bites out. “But I get to pick the ship.”

“Fine,” she rolls her eyes, slowing a bit as they near the Concession Stand. “Both of you, stay behind me. And make sure he doesn’t see BB-8. The less he knows about us, the better.” She eyes the stand with some trepidation, recalling the last time she had been in there, leaving empty-handed and hungry for the trek back to her old AT-AT.

She wonders briefly if the AT-AT is still there, or if another scavenger has taken up residence there, before she decides that she doesn't quite care—there’s no use in lingering on the past.

The AT-AT has played its part in her life, and she’s moved past needing it.

She nods nervously towards Constable Zuvio and one of his deputies, who’re talking to one of the elderly scavengers by the cleaning stations, before pushing her way past a few scavengers at the door, comparing their portions and bartering for more with each other.

She shakes her head to rid herself of the painful memories that well up within her mind at the sight, and focuses on Unkar Plutt’s less than pleasant visage, already mentally preparing herself for dealing with the filth that he will undoubtedly spout at her—she imagines he wasn’t pleased she simply up and left him when Kylo came for her—and she hopes that Eight-Seven won’t take anything the Blobfish says as an insult to her honor.

There are surprisingly few scavengers still inside, and she waits impatiently until the line before them dissipates and she is once again standing before Plutt’s booth—she hopes this is the very last time—resting her hand on her swollen belly protectively, almost as though she can shield her daughter from Plutt’s calculating, disgusting gaze.

“Look who came crawling back,” Plutt sneers as soon as she’s close enough. “Did your _friend_ finally realize you’re nothing more than a desert _slut_ and toss you back out?” He eyes her swollen belly with distaste and spits, “With an extra mouth to feed, no less.”

Rey opens her mouth, unsure as to what she would have said, exactly, but she’s interrupted by Eight-Seven shouting, “Don’t talk to her like that, you filthy—” before he’s cut off, and she turns to find him and Poe Dameron struggling as Dameron tries to keep him from charging past Rey to attack Plutt, despite the barred window keeping scavengers from outright assaulting him.

It doesn’t look like the bars would have slowed Big Deal down in the slightest.

“Big Deal,” she says softly, calmly, smiling a little when he immediately stops struggling in Dameron’s arms, eyes wide as he looks at her. “Ignore him,” she tells him. “He’s not worth it.” When she’s sure he won’t try to attack Unkar again, she turns back to the aforementioned Crolute and eyes him critically.

“I need a ship and 60 portions,” she intones, rapping her nails on the counter of Unkar’s booth. “I have a fully operational and undamaged _Upsilon_ -class command shuttle for you in return—as long as I get my pick of any ship I want in your yard, the shuttle is all yours.” Unkar narrows his eyes at her, but she maintains her steady glare, and she can tell he is considering her offer.

She was absolutely right—his greed knows no bounds.

“If I were to agree to this,” he growls, leaning forward, briefly overwhelming her with the repugnant scent of his sweat. “I’ll need to have my boys check that your shuttle is indeed as undamaged as you say.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. “You know as well as I do that I was your best mechanic and none of your other goons knows the inside of a starship as well as I do. I’m telling you that shuttle is the newest and fully operational, and you’ll take my word for it.” Unintentionally, she infuses her words with a bit of Force Persuasion, and she can see the tension in Unkar’s body drain away as he nods.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he replies tonelessly, before piling ration packets onto the counter. “Take any ship you like from the yard.”

Rey grins happily, inordinately pleased with herself for _finally_ putting that fat, ugly blobfish in his place, and turns to Eight-Seven and Dameron—who are still, rather hilariously, tangled in each other’s arms. “Could you two carry the rations, please?” One of Poe’s eyebrows lifts high up his forehead when she bites her lower lip to keep from outright laughing at them, before he seems to really register his _amusing_ entanglement.

She watches as he draws his lower lip between his teeth and smirks salaciously. “Not that I don’t love this,” he teases poor Eight-Seven, “but we should probably hold off until we’re not actually in public anymore.”

Rey snorts, and Eight-Seven yelps, promptly shoving Poe away as he looks down and avoids both of their eyes, clearly in a poor attempt to hide just how _flustered_ he is. Rey can’t quite blame him either—Poe Dameron is clearly a whole new class of swagger, salacious grins and suggestive lip-biting, and she thinks that not even Esmé’s most aggressive attempts at flirting could have prepared Eight-Seven for this man.

Eight-Seven hurries past her, tearing his backpack off of his shoulders to stuff the ration packs inside while she turns to Poe and quickly distracts him from staring at Eight-Seven by asking him what kind of ship they would need for the journey to the Resistance Base. “There’s a Quadjumper,” she says slowly, idly scratching at her belly as she tries to remember which ships had been docked in Unkar’s yard last time she had been there. “And a YT-1300 freighter… But that one’s garbage; we really don’t need that kind of trouble… There’s an old Y-wing too, but that won’t seat us all—”

“Wait,” Poe grabs her arm and frowns as they head out the door, Eight-Seven carefully strapping his backpack onto his back again. “A YT-1300 Corellian freighter? You’re sure?”

She eyes him nervously, her skin crawling where he’s touching her, before carefully pulling her arm from his grasp and taking a step back, towards Eight-Seven. “Yes, I’m sure,” she replies in a clipped voice. “I told you though, it’s garbage. We should go for the Quadjumper—it’s our best shot.”

She doesn’t wait for him to reply, a little too rattled after the unexpected and rather unwanted touch to pretend like she’s a normal, functional human being, and hurries outside, shivering slightly as she steps out into the cooling desert air. Suddenly, Kylo’s absence from her mind feels like a gaping, aching _wound_ and she can barely breathe—she wants to take the ship and go back to the _Finalizer_ , Hux and Snoke be damned, and _hold_ Kylo until she feels like herself again.

“Rey?”

Eight-Seven slows to a stop beside her, tentatively reaching out his hand but stopping a few centimeters from her own, allowing her the choice to take his hand or let it fall. A new wave of affection for her bodyguard and friend wells up inside of her and, before she can second-guess herself, she takes his hand, pulling him into a hug as she attempts to rein in the desire to burst into desperate sobs.

“It’s okay,” Eight-Seven whispers softly, drawing his fingers through her hair in a comforting, sweet gesture. “You’ll see him again soon enough—and in the meantime, Poe is going to take us somewhere safe for you and the baby. And I’ll be here—I’ll be right here with you as long as you need me.”

Before either of them can say anything else, Poe curses low beneath his breath and jogs up to them, tugging his stolen blaster from his waistband. “I really hate to break up this touching little moment,” he pants, nodding to their left, “but we’ve got company.” Rey frowns but obligingly turns to look to the spot he indicated, the bottom of her stomach dropping out when she spots the Stormtroopers weaving their way through the odd arrangement of tents and stations, armed with blasters and _clearly_ looking for something— _someone_.

“Sithspit,” she curses. “We have to go. Now.”

She doesn’t wait for the two men to reply and turns on her heel, jogging towards the back of the Concession Stand, where she knows they can slip away and get to the ships. Running with a seven-and-a-half-month pregnant belly is far from comfortable or easy, but she and Kylo had still trained together every day and, while she has finally gained the weight she needed to, she is still far from being very big, and she can run pretty fast when necessary.

“Wait, no,” Dameron yells after her, “Can you even run in your condition?”

She rolls her eyes and shouts back, “I’m pregnant, not disabled! I can run just fine when the situation calls for it!” The words have barely fallen from her lips when blaster bolts suddenly start flying around their heads, and the screech of low-flying TIE-fighters fills her ears.

“Trust me,” Eight-Seven bellows as he catches up to her, “The situation calls for it! BB-8, keep up!”

“Oh, sure,” Poe wails dramatically a few meters behind them, dodging blaster bolts so fast and so perfectly it almost looks like it’s second nature to him. “Make sure the droid is safe, not the kriffing pilot!”

“Well, maybe I like your droid better than you,” Eight-Seven yells back. “At least he’s nice to me!”

Rey _would_ laugh at the way Poe gasps dramatically, slapping his hand to his chest as he cries, “I’ve been nothing but nice to you, buddy!” She is, however, rather pre-occupied with dodging blaster fire and trying to run without overbalancing and falling on her face.

“Guys!” She exclaims, “Less flirting, more running! The Quadjumper’s right there, we just need to—”

She’s five meters from the Quadjumper when it’s blown up—she’s so close she can _feel_ the heat of the fire on her face, and she stumbles back unsteadily, bumping into Eight-Seven, who steadies her before turning around. “The garbage’ll do then,” she tells Poe, who nods and turns on his heel, running towards the freighter, which is still covered by a ratty tarp.

By the time she and Eight-Seven have reached the ship, Poe has somehow lowered the ramp and is sprinting inside, looking around quickly to orient himself before spinning around and locking his gaze on Eight-Seven. “You,” he says, stalking forward to poke Eight-Seven’s chest. “You know how to shoot?”

“Blasters, yeah,” Eight-Seven replies tightly as Rey hurries past them and drops into the pilot’s seat, firing up the engines and activating the shields as best she can while her co-pilot and her gunner—and she really doesn’t care which one of them ends up being which, she just needs them to _stop flirting_ and get on with the program—are prattling to each other in the loading area.

“Guys, _honestly_ ,” she huffs, getting to her feet again and stomping into the loading area just in time to see Poe lunge forward to press his mouth against Big Deal’s, pressing his entire body up against his. Her jaw sags when Eight-Seven doesn’t automatically shove the pilot back, but lowers his hands to rest on Poe’s hips, tilting his head into the kiss and—

An explosion right next to the hull of the freighter rattles the entire ship, and Rey would have keeled over were it not for the fact that she’s standing right next to a wall and manages to catch herself on it.

Poe and Eight-Seven have broken apart and the former is shooing the latter towards the gunner’s seat before rushing past her and plopping down in the pilot’s seat. “Okay, let’s do this!” Poe crows excitedly, shooting her a wide grin. “I’ve always wanted to fly this thing.”

Before she realizes what he’s said, or what he could possibly mean by that, they’re in the air and manoeuvring their way out of the spaceport, and she can’t stop staring at Poe—who just went and kissed her sweet, grieving best friend. “What?” He shrugs playfully when he catches her staring. “I like a kiss for good luck—and I’m not suicidal enough to ask _you_ for one.”

Instead of replying, she just shakes her head and flips the toggle to activate their shields as Eight-Seven shouts at them through the comlink, cheering as he manages to shoot down one of the TIE-fighters that’s pursuing them—she can feel his excitement and the adrenaline rush vibrate through the Force, and the adrenaline pumping through her own veins makes her feel lightheaded as she and Poe cheer with him.

“Did you _see_ that?” Eight-Seven cheers loudly over the comms, “ _Did you see that_?”

“I saw it,” Poe crows just as he swerves abruptly to the side, enabling Eight-Seven to take out another TIE-fighter. “Hey, what’re your names?” He suddenly asks, frowning as though upset with himself for not asking for their names earlier—he _should_ be, Rey grumbles internally. He hadn't even bothered to learn Eight-Seven’s name before pushing his tongue down his throat.

“I’m Rey,” she tells him, before leaning forward to disengage the compressor so that they can switch to hyperspace as soon as they’ve shaken that final TIE-fighter.

“FN-2187,” Big Deal replies through the comm, and she winces, because she hasn’t heard him use the serial number on himself in a _long_ time, and it’s unsettling to hear it now.

Poe, if anything, looks completely flabbergasted and stutters, “F—what?”

“Rey calls me Big Deal,” Eight-Seven admits, and she flushes a little when Poe looks at her with wide eyes, “But FN-2187 is the only name they’ve ever given me.”

The expression on Poe’s face at that changes from confusion to anger to determination _very_ quickly, and she can only listen, slightly stunned, as Poe says, “Well, I ain’t using it. FN, huh?” He’s silent for a moment, clearly contemplating something before he blurts, “Finn—I’m going to call you Finn. Is that alright?”

And see…

Rey doesn’t have very many friends.

She has Kylo, who is rather more than simply a friend, and Esmé, who is much like the mother she never got to have—but Eight-Seven is really and truly her _friend_ , and she feels just a little protective of him. When Poe asks if he can call Eight-Seven Finn, she fully expects him to turn down the offer of a real name the same way he turned down her request to help him look for a real name—politely and sweetly, but firmly.

Instead, he falls silent and repeats, “Finn? Finn. Yeah—yeah, I like that.”

Before anyone can say anything else, a green bolt hits them on the right, and something sparks in the overhead space next to Rey. She yelps in surprise before leaping up, pulling away the hatch that covers the wiring as Poe frantically scrambles to figure out what’s wrong with the ship. “Coolant’s leaking,” he growls in frustration, pushing his hands through his mess of curls.

She doesn’t look away from the mess of tangled wires and burned relays in her hands, rapidly trying to discern which one she needs to cut off to restore the ship to a relatively workable freighter. “Try routing auxiliary power to secondary—”

“—tank,” Poe finishes, nodding along eagerly, “Yeah, I got it. Finn, buddy—keep them busy for a second, okay? We’re working on getting us out of here.” BB-8 squeals somewhere towards the back of the ship as Finn shouts an agreement, and Poe grins softly. “Yeah, buddy, we’re going to be fine—hold on, okay?”

Her heart clenches a little at the affectionate tone he uses with his droid, and she is forced to admit to herself that Poe Dameron may not be such a bad man—one can tell a lot about a man from the way he treats his droids, after all. From what she’s seen so far, Poe spoils his astromech more than some people spoil their children, and it’s terrifyingly endearing.

“Yes,” she hisses when she locates the chip she was looking for and yanks it out, abruptly restoring power and shutting down the blaring alarms as she drops back into her seat, triumphantly holding up the chip to Poe. “I bypassed the compressor. We should be able to jump to hyperspeed easily now.”

Poe grins at her, all wrinkled laugh lines and white teeth, before punching in coordinates seemingly from memory—though she has no doubt he’ll have BB-8 run diagnostics and calculations later to make sure he put them on the right course. “Great job,” he tells her, “Now everybody _hold on_ —we’re jumping straight into hyperspace. No time to wait until we leave atmo!”

A frisson of fear makes its way down her spine and she eyes Poe critically. “Is that even possible?”

He doesn’t look at her, instead focused on the monitor in front him as he prepares for the jump into hyperspace. “We’re about to find out,” he sighs heavily, fingers resting on the button. “You guys ready for this?” He looks at her from beneath his lashes and nods towards her swollen belly. “You should probably buckle up, in case the kid’s not really up for hyperspace jumps.”

“What?” Eight-Seven— _Finn_ —demands over the crackling comm. “Rey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she replies succinctly, glaring a little at Poe, who mouths ‘sorry’ at her with a tiny grin. “Just buckle up, and get ready for a bit of a shock, okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies, and Rey nods towards Poe.

“If you get us killed,” she glares, “I will find a way to use the Force to kill you again, flyboy.”

Poe merely chuckles and shakes his head. “Here goes nothing then.” He punches the button and she’s pushed back into her seat with the force of the jump, nausea coiling in her stomach before her body settles into their new speed and relaxes against the soft padding of the co-pilot’s chair.

 “So… Why do you need Leia Organa anyway?” Poe asks after a short silence, as they soar peacefully in hyperspace. “I mean, I get escaping from the First Order and wanting to join the Resistance, but why Leia specifically?”

Rey shrugs, rubbing her hand over her belly to soothe the baby, who is kicking up a storm, clearly infected by her own adrenaline rush. “I thought she might like to know she’s going to be a grandmother,” she replies matter-of-factly, barely concealing her grin when he chokes on thin air before swiveling around to stare at her.

“You’re shitting me,” he breathes, eyes wide and startled. “ _Finn_ —she’s shitting me, right?”

She wrinkles her nose a little at the use of Big Deal’s new name, but doesn’t comment, grinning when Big Deal— _Finn_ —strolls into the cockpit and shrugs before he replies, “Yeah, I really don’t think she is. Of course, we’re not actually allowed to say Lord Ren’s real name aloud, but it makes sense.”

Poe’s mouth opens and closes a few times, and she can _see_ the moment he realizes just who her husband is. “Wait,” he frowns in confusion, “But that would mean—Kylo Ren—you’re _shitting_ me. That—that man was _Ben Solo?_ ” He gapes at her, eyes wide and absolutely dumbstruck, and she suppresses a little giggle that wants to burst forth at his blatant shock.

“He’s not gone by that name in a long time,” she finally says. “But yes, Leia Organa is his mother, and she is my daughter’s grandmother, and since someone is trying to kill my baby, Leia seemed like the only other person we could turn to for help.” She rubs her hand over her belly gently, comforted by the steady glow of her daughter’s mind, entwined closely with her own.

She leans her head back against the headrest of the co-pilot’s seat and stares at the stars that speed by, her eyelids growing heavier with the minutes that pass in silence.

She slips into sleep before she even realises it.

.

.

.

When she wakes, she is curled up in one of the bunks rather than the co-pilot’s seat, and Eight-Seven— _Finn_ —is gently shaking her shoulder to rouse her. “We’re here,” he tells her solemnly, and her heart immediately starts _pounding_ , because she thought she’d have more _time_ to think of what she’s going to _say_ and _do_.

“Poe’s going out first,” Finn smiles, “He’s going to vouch for us—make sure they won’t hurt us.”

Rey doesn’t miss the tenderness that sneaks into Finn’s voice when he mentions the pilot, and she feels a little better—lighter—knowing that her best friend will at least have a chance at finding the happiness in life that he had always been denied on The _Finalize_ r.

His feelings for Poe Dameron may only be new and uncertain and tainted by guilt so shortly after Slip’s death, but they’re _real_ , and she doesn’t need to feel it through the Force to know that.

“Okay,” she nods shakily, allowing him to help her up and out of the bunk, straightening out the wrinkles in her tunic and leggings before tying her hair back in three knots, like she hasn’t since she left Naboo. “Let’s go then,” she smiles at Finn, the uncertainty of how she’ll be received still making her stomach churn.

Poe is waiting for them by the ramp, smiling brightly the moment Finn walks into his line of sight.

“It’s just General Organa and Han waiting for us out there,” he tells them with an understanding grin. “I commed in while you were asleep, told them who I was and got them to lay off the ground crew and the huge masses of people for now.” He shrugs one shoulder and shoots her a glance. “I figured you might want to tell the General your news in relative privacy.”

Rey exhales in relief and manages a small smile in return, resting her hand on the top of her belly.

Poe nods and then pulls the lever to lower the ramp, starting down the ramp before it’s even fully lowered. “General! I didn’t think you’d come personally, even though I asked!”

Instead of the feminine voice she’d expected to reply, there’s a heavier, male voice that demands, “Quit stalling, Dameron. How the Pfassk did you get your hands on _my_ ship?” She jumps when a Wookiee roars in agreement to the man’s claim, and she feels both elated—because she’s heard so many stories about Han Solo and Chewbacca—and _terrified_ when she realizes she’ll be faced with not just Kylo’s mother, but his father, too.

“It’s a long story,” Poe chuckles when the ramp finally touches down on the duracrete landing strip, and she bites her lip as Finn gently takes her elbow and guides her towards the ramp. “I brought two people that you should really meet first though. They’re very eager to meet you.” That’s their cue, she supposes, and she steps out onto the ramp, eyeing the short, grey-haired woman nervously as she frowns at Poe.

“Poe, what did I tell you about bringing strays back to base?”

She doesn’t quite listen to Poe’s response, a little too caught up in studying the elderly pair that stands before her and Finn now. Rey supposes she sees the familial resemblance between her husband and his mother—but it’s not until her gaze falls upon Han Solo that she truly _sees_ how much Kylo looks like both of them, and it makes her yearn to know how much her own daughter will resemble her husband.

When her eyes finally fall upon Leia Organa again, the other woman is studying her with such intensity that it makes her want to hide away from those eyes— _her husband’s eyes_ —behind Finn.

“Who are you?” The woman asks, and Rey is struck by the woman’s astute observation—she didn’t think it was so very obvious that she was the one Poe was talking about—as Han turns from glaring at Poe to look at her, the skin between his eyebrows creasing as he studies her carefully.

There is, however, not a hint of recognition in his eyes.

She takes a deep breath and steps forward, her feet finally touching solid ground again, rubbing her hand on the side of her belly as the baby kicks _hard_.

 _She can do this_.

“My name is Rey. I’m your son’s wife.”

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO MUCH for sticking with me through the end, and for all the love and support you guys gave me :D 
> 
> This was my first venture into the Star Wars fandom, and I've never been happier that I took the plunge and jumped right in :D This story totally is my little fluffball though, and it feels really weird ending it, though I reserve the right to revisit the universe in the future. 
> 
> There will be an epilogue, but I am unsure when that will be posted, since I'm not entirely sure what I am going to show in it just yet :) Thanks a million to Meaghan, who is the best friend and beta ever, and who I would likely not have met without this story. I love you, my darling fic-wife :D 
> 
> Okay... That's all I have to say, I think. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and please leave a comment one last time :D
> 
> Love, Annaelle. 
> 
> PS Poe Dameron is a sassy bastard who literally wrote all his lines on his own. I have nothing to do with it :p  
> PPS Shameless self-promotion: check out my other Reylo story Psychedelic Inebriation (part 1 of the Optical Delusion of Consciousness series) and my DarkJediPilot fic Trimurti :D


	11. Epilogue

# Epilogue  
"We are each on our own journey. Each of us is on our very own adventure; encountering all kinds of challenges, and the choices we make on that adventure will shape us as we go; these choices will stretch us, test us and push us to our limit; and our adventure will make us stronger than we ever know we could be."  
—Aamnah Akram

 **THREE AND A HALF MONTHS LATER**  
D’QAR  
RESISTANCE BASE—MEDBAY

**Rey**

Her entire body is still trembling in the aftermath of the intense waves of pain, her hands trembling as she watches Poe talk to the female doctor that had assisted her while she delivered her baby. She has not yet been allowed to hold her baby girl—the nurse and doctor had swept her away immediately to perform a plethora of tests, some of which Rey is sure she can’t even pronounce—but she has heard her _cry_ , and it makes _her_ want to cry.

Not having Finn here to hold her hand and support her through this had been bad enough.

Having her child _here_ , in a place that is barely less than hostile towards her, without her husband or her best friend by her side, is everything she had wanted to avoid—everything she had thought she was leaving behind when she took Kylo’s hand on Jakku and let him lead her onto his shuttle.

Life on the Resistance base had been peaceful enough with Finn there to cheer her up and Poe to flirt with her while he made eyes at her former bodyguard and BB-8 to secretly upload all of Poe’s best X-wing maintenance manuals and Republic history holobooks onto her datapad.

Han Solo had turned out to be a gruff, no-nonsense man with an absolute inability to remain grounded for longer than forty-eight hours, but Rey absolutely _adores_ him. Leia Organa had remained rather stand-offish, as though she wasn’t quite sure what to make of Rey’s entire existence, nor of her relationship with Kylo. Rey hadn’t had the energy nor the will to attempt to change the older woman’s mind about her or her baby.

Across the room, her daughter gives another displeased little shriek, snapping Rey from her thoughts.

She turns her head to look at them again, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as she sighs, mind replaying the memories of the past twenty-four hours.

The baby had not been due for another month, and she had hardly expected to go into labour a mere twelve hours after she had insisted Finn take the mission that would lead him to his home planet—or at least the planet his DNA indicated was his home planet. 

He’d been reluctant to go, and the only reason she had been able to convince him to go at all was because Poe had sworn to him that he wouldn’t let her out of his sight.

She had been annoyed at the time, but after twelve hours of labour with no one familiar but Poe to hold her hand and coach her through it, she is more than a little pleased that her bodyguard had been so persistent in leaving her with someone both familiar and trusted.

“Look who I brought,” Poe smiles as he approaches the bed, a tiny little bundle in his arms.

Her heart starts pounding as he leans down, slipping her daughter into her arms slowly and carefully as he shows her how to support the baby’s head. “She’s gorgeous, Rey,” he tells her quietly, slipping into the seat beside her bed, his finger trapped in her daughter’s little fist. “Just like your mommy, aren’t you, darling?” He coos at the baby, shaking her hand playfully as Rey grins at him.

Poe Dameron likes to flirt, she had learned during the months they’d spent living on the Resistance Base, despite the fact that he’s hopelessly in love with her former bodyguard and tends to just melt into a puddle of love-struck Poe Dameron goo whenever he catches sight of Finn.

“She’s—” She breaks off and stares at her daughter— _her baby, she made that, she and Kylo made this beautiful little creature—_ as she attempts to sear the image of her daughter’s little face in her mind.

Her cheeks are stained with pink splotches and her little pink lips are the same shape as Kylo’s and she has an adorable button nose and a head full of dark hair and she’s just… She’s _perfect_. She can’t quite comprehend that she _made_ this little person—a part of both her and Kylo.

She hadn’t thought she could _love_ someone like this. All-encompassing, breath-taking in its intensity and so _much_ that she just wants to _cry_. 

“Hi baby,” she chokes, voice thick with emotion. “I’m your mommy. I love you _so much_ and I know your father’s not here, but I promise he loves you too. He’s coming back for us.” She presses her lips to her baby’s soft, wrinkly forehead and whispers, “You have a family, baby, and we are always going to be there for you, no matter what happens.”

She looks up, tears burning in her eyes still, when Poe shifts beside her, slipping his arm around her shoulders as he tugs her into a gentle hug. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he whispers, his voice thick and laden with emotion, brushing his lips across her temple, “You are so strong. Ben’s a lucky man—if only I’d met you first.” 

She chuckles drily, refusing to comment on him using Kylo’s old name, and hugs her baby close, rocking back and forth a little in Poe’s secure embrace. “You wouldn’t have met Finn,” she mutters, stroking her daughter’s pink, chubby cheeks. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have survived _that_ tragedy.” 

Poe only huffs in amusement, and Rey smiles, her eyes still locked on the squirming little human in her arms, wondering briefly what it would have been like had Kylo been here with her instead of Poe and Finn.

She likes to think he would have held her hand as Poe did, whispering encouragements in her ear, cracking silly jokes to take her mind off the pain—but she knows he would likely have been too busy panicking, worrying about the intense pain she would have projected into the Bond. He would have been curled around her, holding her together as she fell apart to deliver their daughter into the world.

She wishes he would have been here with her.

He hadn't been here though, not even through the bond. Neither had Finn, through no fault of their own—but Poe _had_ been there. “Thank you,” she tells Poe softly as the baby blinks up at her, tiny lips parted in a yawn. “For being here.”

“Anytime,” Poe replies, voice equally quiet as he rests his hand—finger still trapped in her daughters fist—on the baby's chest. “Anytime.”

.

.

.

 **SIX DAYS LATER**  
D’QAR  
RESISTANCE BASE— PRIVATE QUARTERS ASSIGNED TO POE DAMERON

She laughs loudly and boisterously, clutching at her still-sore, still-swollen belly as she sits, propped up by three pillows on her bed, sheets pooled around her waist. Finn is sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her bed, her former bodyguard looking both terrified and smitten as he holds her week-old daughter in his arms.

The baby seems equally smitten with him, her eyes—still that generic shade of blue that all human babies seem to share—wide and her pink little lips parted as she stares up at Finn.

“She looks just like you,” Finn repeats, sounding reasonably more awestruck than he had the first time he had laid eyes on her baby girl. She does not directly agree with the statement, as she hadn’t when both Leia and Poe made a similar remark shortly after the baby had been born.

“She has his ears and lips,” Rey tells him quietly, settling back against her pillows as Finn strokes his fingers past her daughter’s cheek, causing the baby to squirm in his hold before settling down again.

Finn nods solemnly and offers her a sad smile before returning his attention to the little bundle in his arms. “Have you decided what to name her yet?” he asks without taking his eyes off of the baby, rocking her gently when she lets out a cry of protest. Rey wrinkles her nose and shakes her head in frustration as she leans her head back against the wall.

“No,” she grumbles. “I—it feels wrong to choose a name without him.”

Finn falls silent at that, frowning down at her daughter for a moment before glancing back up at her, pearly white teeth digging into his lower lip in what is now a terribly familiar gesture. She sighs and leans her head back against the pillow, eyeing him carefully. “Just say it, Finn. Whatever it is you want to say to me, just go ahead and say it. I won’t be angry with you.”

It is a reassurance she has had to make quite a few times over the past couple of months, from the first time he and Poe had kissed without the imminent threat of death hanging over their heads to the time he thought she was being deliberately obtuse about training while heavily pregnant but was too polite to actually say something about it until she forced him to.

“You can’t leave her nameless,” he finally says, looking up at her with a sad but determined look in his eye. “It’s not fair to her, either. It could be _years_ before Master Ren can overthrow Snoke and General Hux,” he adds delicately, glancing down at the baby when she whines in protest at no longer being the center of his attention. “Don’t let her grow up without a name to call her own.”

There is a silent pain in his words, and she winces at her own carelessness.

Finn had grown up without a name, without a family or even an identity to call his own, and she can imagine that the idea of it happening to her child—the child he’d been fighting to protect for months—is absolutely unbearable to him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, blinking furiously against the hot tears that suddenly burn in her eyes. “I didn’t—I wouldn’t have—” She growls, frustrated with her own inability to express herself.

“I know,” he responds, equally quiet as he rocks the baby in his arms to soothe her.  “I know you wouldn’t. It’s just…” He shrugs and smiles tightly. “It bothers me to think of this beautiful little girl having no name—of feeling she didn’t belong.”

“She’ll always belong,” Rey breathes as he slowly gets to his feet and settles on the edge of the bed beside her, her daughter curled up in his arms. A small smile spreads on her lips as she watches her baby blink up at them lazily, her pink little lips pursed together and her little nose scrunched up as she reaches one of her hands— _tiny, tiny_ hands—up to grasp at the empty air between her face and Finn’s.

“She’s so beautiful,” Finn says again, awestruck, leaning down to press his lips to her tiny palm as his fingers gently curl around her arm. “You’re _so_ beautiful, little one,” he tells the baby in a serious, no-nonsense voice. “Don’t _ever_ believe anyone who tells you otherwise.”

Rey chuckles lightly, though she feels a little choked up at Finn’s positively heart-warming words.

“She’s in love with you already,” she whispers, leaning her head against Finn’s shoulder. “You’re going to have to be the favourite uncle, you know? With all these kriffing Skywalkers in the family, she’ll need a _sane_ relative, too.”  

“One Skywalker,” Finn replies quietly, grinning as the baby wraps her tiny hand around his finger and _tugs_. “And General Organa hardly counts as that. Captain Solo isn’t even a Skywalker at all, and Master Ren worked hard to distance himself from the name, did he not?”

She hums thoughtfully, stroking her fingers through the soft, dark tufts of hair on her baby’s little head—because _naturally_ Kylo’s daughter would be born with a head full of the same luscious dark hair as her father. “There’s still Luke to consider,” she whispers bitterly, frowning at the mention of the man. “Even if he’s not here, your boyfriend, Leia, and Han are working hard to remedy that.”

Before Finn can reply to that, they can hear the door to Poe’s—borrowed—quarters hiss open and closed, and BB-8 rolls into the room, hooting excitedly about something Rey can’t quite make out—she only gathers that it has something to do with Leia and the dusty old droid that had been covered in a tarp for decades, if C3P0 was to be believed.

“Hey guys,” Poe calls out as he _struts_ —because of _course_ he doesn’t walk, he doesn’t run, he _struts_ —into the room, his expression softening slightly as he takes in the sight of the two of them curled up together with the baby secure in Finn’s arms. “You look comfortable.”

“We are,” Finn replies with a cheeky grin. “I think I like cuddling with this little girl more than with you.”

Rey grins when Poe gasps dramatically, slapping his hand to his heart. “You break my heart, buddy.” Nonetheless, he moves towards them until he is standing next to Finn, his leg pressed along Finn’s upper arm as he bends forward to coo at her daughter. “Though I can’t blame you,” he chuckles as she releases Finn’s finger in favour of grabbing his. “She truly is adorable.”

Rey watches, greatly amused, as both men start vying for her baby’s attention, cooing at her, tickling her tummy, and tugging on her tiny toes. Finn shoves Poe aside gently when the baby starts fussing, getting to his feet to rock her back and forth gently as he paces the room with Poe trailing behind him.

She settles back into the pillows a bit more comfortably as she regards the three of them, smiling a little at the casual affectionate touches that Poe and Finn exchange. She had been initially rather sceptical when Finn confided in her about his feelings for Poe, and she is mature enough to admit that most of said scepticism had originated from the fact that she was terrified of having to _share_ Finn’s affection and attention.

Poe had absolutely proven himself worthy of Finn’s affection though, and after her baby had been born, Rey found she was much more comfortable with the budding romance between him and Finn.

Especially after Finn’s family—what was left of them—had told him he was no longer considered a part of their lineage, that the _taint_ of the First Order would forever stain his soul, and had asked him to leave them and never return to them again.

Rey’s blood boils at the mere thought of their superstitious nonsense and their careless dismissal of Finn and everything he is, and the memory of how _devastated_ he had been when he returned to her and Poe brings tears of frustration and sadness to her eyes again. She and Poe had spent hours attempting to offer him comfort, cradling him in a joint hug between them until he stopped sobbing.

He had told them the story in halted whispers, and Rey had never wished to be mobile and able to wield a lightsaber so much before. She had seen her own fury echoed in Poe’s eyes and expression, and she believes that that may have been the moment she decided to trust Poe Dameron.

“Have you thought of a name yet?”

Poe’s inquiry shakes her from her thoughts again, and she looks up to find him sitting cross-legged in the large, squishy armchair across the room, her daughter propped up on his lap while Finn kneels on the floor before them, making faces at the baby.

Her heart swells with affection for the two men, but _aches_ at the same time, because the man that _should_ be here isn’t, and his absence weighs heavy on her heart. Finn is right, however—she cannot leave her daughter nameless until Kylo manages to overthrow Snoke. It could very well take years, and though she doesn’t like thinking they may be apart for so long, she is aware that it is a possibility.

“Kylo likes the name Kida,” she finally whispers, guilt roiling in the pit of her stomach as she makes what may be a defining decision in their child’s life without him.

Poe looks down at the baby and grins, nodding slowly. “I like it. Suits her. What about her last name?”

 _That_ is an issue she had missed entirely and hadn’t even considered, and she gapes at Poe, jaw sagging, as she attempts to word a coherent answer. “I don’t know,” she admits quietly, drawing her lip between her teeth as she frowns. “I don’t have a last name, and I’m _not_ using Organa or Skywalker… But Ren is a name Snoke gave Kylo, and we’re trying to kill him, so that doesn’t feel right either—”

“How ‘bout Solo?”

All three of them startle when Han’s gruff voice interjects, and Kida coos happily at the sight of her grandfather. She watches in slight amazement—like any time she witnesses Han Solo, smuggler, General, and overall badass Banthafucker, with her daughter—as he crosses the room to where Poe is seated, grinning crookedly as Poe hands Kida to him.

“Hey there, Princess,” he coos at her, rocking her gently as he approaches Rey. “Even prettier than your grandmother—don’t tell her I said that.”

She barely notices when Finn and Poe slink out of the room, holding hands and being as disgustingly cute as they always are, even when they're trying to give her and her father-in-law a moment of privacy—even if they are technically in Poe's room. She shuffles a little more to the side, so Han can settle on the bed beside her, his eyes still locked on Kida.

“Y’know, ‘cause Solo _is_ Ben's real name,” he finally continues, looking up at her briefly with that same, charming crooked grin. “I ain't good at the whole sentimental stuff, and… Solos were a kriffed up bunch even before I took up with a Skywalker—but she could continue my legacy. Pretty girl like her’d probably convince her partner to take the name too.” He looks down, and she can tell he is feeling a little too vulnerable, so she doesn’t startle when he grins up at her and shrugs, as though his words were no big deal. “There's always room for two more gorgeous heartbreakers in the family.”

Her chest feels tight, and she can’t quite figure out how to _breathe_.

“I—” She breaks off and blinks rapidly, desperately attempting not to burst into tears as she tries to recall how to actually use _words_ to express what she’s feeling. “I’d love that, Han. You’ve been—you’ve been _so_ good to me, and to Finn, already… To Kida. I’m sure Kylo would approve of her— _us_ —taking your and his last name.”

“Kida Solo,” Han repeats gruffly, stroking his calloused fingers down her baby’s soft cheek. “Just as clever as your father. Don’t break my heart like he did, Princess.”

 **.**  
.  
.

 **FIVE YEARS LATER**  
YAVIN IV  
DAMERON FARM

When she wakes, hours later than she would normally, it is due to the loud rumble of Woolamanders launching themselves noisily from branch to branch in the jungle that surrounds Poe and Finn’s inherited farm land, belting out their morning vocalizations. There is the soft, sweet song of Whisperbirds in the air, and the soft rustle of the Stintaril moving through the treetops as they follow said boisterous groups of Woolamanders.

Her daughter’s small, warm body is curled up against her side, and she can hear Poe’s soft snoring across the room, the two youngest members of the Dameron family undoubtedly still curled up on top of his chest and pressed against his side, as they had been the previous evening. She knows Finn is already up because the rhythmic sound of his breathing is missing, and the scent of Alderaanian Flatcakes is drifting towards the living area, where they had built a massive pillow and blanket fort the previous evening.

She leans her head back against the pillow and luxuriates in the rare peace and quiet that permeates Finn and Poe’s cottage. Since Poe and Finn had taken in Neo and Obi, two war orphans—twin boys—from Dantooine, there was always noise at the main house, laughter and music and happiness.

When she hears Finn humming softly in the kitchen, she sighs and slowly extracts herself from her five-year-old’s tight embrace. Kida whines softly, crinkling her nose when Rey gently slides out from beneath her and tucks the quilt in around her. Her heart clenches when Kida burrows her face in her pillow in a move eerily reminiscent of _him_ , her dark curls splaying messily across the stark white pillow.

She stands over her sleeping daughter for another moment before carefully making her way out of the living area, grinning a little as she steps around Poe, whose face is mashed into a pillow while both boys, their messy brunette locks all over the place, sleep on his back.

There’s a quilt tucked in neatly around Poe’s legs and the twins are covered in a thin knitted blanket that she recalls Kes Dameron—Poe’s father—had made before he passed away.

The sight of them is absolutely endearing, and she has to stop herself from leaning down to stroke her fingers through Poe’s curls, to soothe the nightmares before they get a chance to take root in his mind.

She had grown rather fond of Finn’s pilot boyfriend— _husband_ now—in the years that had passed since she first set foot on D’Qar—learned to appreciate the way he was obviously head over heels in love with her bodyguard, and the way he always found a way to make her smile.

She grins to herself as she steps into the kitchen and leans against the doorjamb, watching as Finn moves through the room smoothly and surely, piling flatcakes onto a plate while simultaneously pouring more batter in the pan and flipping the flatcake in the second pan. 

He is humming steadily under his breath as he cooks, a lullaby of family and peace that Poe had taught them years ago, and she finds herself in awe of how much he looks like he _belongs_ here again. It is far from the first time she had found herself in awe of him and the way he carved out a life for himself with Poe, but made sure there was _always_ going to be a place for her and Kida in there as well.

She honestly could not imagine her life without these two men anymore.

After the war, they had readily taken her in, aided her in building a little house for her and her daughter on the edges of Poe’s property on Yavin IV, helped her care for her daughter when she had been too sad and heartbroken to do so herself. Shortly after Kida had been born, Rey had found herself wandering barefoot across the Resistance Base with a crying Kida in her arms, coming to a stop before Poe and Finn’s quarters and waking them up in the middle of the night because _she couldn’t take it anymore_.

Kida had been crying constantly for hours and, no matter what Rey did or tried, nothing had seemed to soothe her baby girl. Poe, bare-chested and sleep-rumpled, had taken one look at her, taken the baby from her, and told her to lie down next to Finn and _sleep_.

She had done as he said, too exhausted and drained to protest, and had not awoken until after noon of the next day, finding her daughter perfectly content and quiet in Finn’s arms as he fed her from a bottle, gazing up at him with wide, curious eyes as he told her tales of heroes and Jedi, of love and friendship and how her _father_ loved her and her mother enough to send them to safety without him.

Her daughter had always been crazy about Finn, from the moment he first held her.

Her breath catches in her throat a little when her thoughts stray to _him_ , and she shakes her head firmly, clenching her eyes shut briefly before opening them once more. Instead of pursuing that line of thought, she draws herself from her memories and back into the present, where Finn had now noticed her, offering her a bright, beautiful smile.

“Good morning,” he says brightly. “Are the kids awake yet?”

She shakes her head and glances over her shoulder. “No. Poe’s still asleep too.”

Finn snorts a laugh and hands her a plate with three flatcakes piled on top, shooing her towards the kitchen table soundlessly. “I know,” he chuckles. “I can hear his snoring. I’m glad he’s sleeping.” A soft smile tugs on his lips as he glances towards the door, and Rey’s heart clenches a little.

He does not need to elaborate.

For all the pain and horrors they had personally been through, they both know Poe has seen things far worse that have scarred him for life and left him with nightmares so horrifying he’d be too paralyzed with fear to wake himself up. Rey has witnessed it herself a few times, mostly when the dreams—flashbacks, as Leia had called them once—took place during the day and Poe got lost in his own head, and it had been agonizing to see him _hurt_ and not be able to help him.

“Me too,” she replies softly, before stuffing her mouth with flatcakes.

Finn grins happily before sliding some of the flatcakes onto a plate for himself and taking a seat across from her. They’d learned early on that eating in peace was a luxury with three children under the age of six in the house, and ate as soon as they woke up, before the children—and usually Poe—did.

“Luke, Leia, and Han should be here within the next standard day,” Finn informs her with a mouth full of pancakes. Rey wrinkles her nose at the mention of the extended Skywalker-Solo family, but refrains from commenting—she is well aware that Poe and Leia are very close, and that Leia considers Obi and Neo grandchildren as much as she does Kida, and even gruff, perpetually grumpy Han Solo seems exceptionally taken with Poe, Finn, Kida and the rest of their little family.

She doesn’t like to admit it, but she quite enjoys spending time with Han Solo and even Leia, when the latter is not preoccupied with trying to convince Rey to allow Luke to take up her training in the Force again.

Rey _can_ , however, easily admit that she absolutely _adores_ Chewbacca, and she knows the Wookiee likes spending time with ‘her and Ben’s little cub’. Kida’s absolutely _in love_ with ‘Uncle Chewie’, and Rey knows his monthly visits are always the highlight of her daughter’s month.

Despite her own misgivings of the Skywalker twins though, Rey would never keep her daughter from getting to know her family, and so she allows the Skywalkers and Han and Chewbacca to visit them on Yavin IV from time to time. She prefers to keep to herself during those visits though, keeping all conversations between herself and Leia and Luke short and to the point—she prefers it that way.

“Did you check the HoloNet for news yet?” Rey asks Finn between bites, shaking all thoughts of the Skywalkers from her mind as she glances at the datapad that is precariously balanced on top of a stack of plates at the far end of the kitchen. She tried to sound nonchalant, but she hasn’t been able to hide anything from Finn for a long time, and she knows he can see right through her, despite her best attempts.

“No,” he replies slowly. “Not yet. I doubt there’ll be anything new today, though. Snoke and Hux have been missing for two years already, and…” He sighs and leans forward, resting his hand on top of hers as he whispers, “ _Kylo’s_ been missing for even longer than that. I know you’re holding out hope, but… Rey, you have to admit it’s been too long. He would have come back if he could have.”

It’s certainly not the first time they’ve talked about this—it’s not even the first time someone has said something akin to this—but she had slept poorly all night, flashes of fear and anger and the hissing of an unstable red lightsaber permeating her dreams and she _can’t_.

She would _know_.

She would _know_ if Kylo had died during his attempt to end the war and to keep her and Kida safe.

“He’s not dead, Finn,” she spits through clenched teeth, the sound of her heart pounding loud in her own ears, her fingers curled tight around her cutlery. “He _isn’t_.”

“Rey—”

“No,” she interrupts angrily, slamming the utensils down on the table violently as she gets to her feet, planting her hands on the wooden table in front of Finn and leaning towards him. “I would _know_ , Finn. He is _not_ dead, and I’d thank you _very_ much to not mention your doubts to _my_ daughter.”

She is surprised by her own words as well as the steadiness of her voice, and she can see how surprised Finn is by the widening of his eyes and the slackness in his jaw.

Suddenly the coziness of Finn and Poe’s little kitchen feels oppressing and suffocating, and her skin _itches_ with the need to simply _get out_ and _away._ It is nearly time for her daily trek to the Temple, after all, and she has no desire to let this disagreement with Finn bleed into a bigger argument that could damage their friendship.

“I’m going to the Temple now,” she says, leaning back abruptly, pushing past Finn to get to the door, where her boots are still heaped together in an untidy pile with Kida’s. “I’ll come pick Kida up later.” She loves her daughter, truly, but to take her rather rambunctious and mischievous five-year-old—who takes entirely too much after her smuggler grandfather—with her when she goes to the ancient Temple to meditate is truly _exhausting_.

Rey has no true memory of how much she had liked or disliked meditation as a child—though according to both Kylo and Luke, she had been rather vocal about her dislike of it—but she is quite certain no one has ever loathed meditation quite as much as her precious five-year-old. Rey supposes lacking the same connection to the Force that she and Kylo share does not help matters whatsoever.

Sitting still for hours on end is a skill her daughter will likely never master.

“Rey,” Finn mutters quietly as she draws the door open to step outside. She hesitates on the doorstep, fingers clenching around the doorknob as she waits for him to say something— _anything_. “I’m sorry,” he continues, and she swallows thickly when she can feel him stepping up beside her, fingers latching onto the door above hers. “I’m just _worried_ ,” he whispers, and she can _feel_ how much he means it.

“I know,” she sighs, slumping forward a little, and shakes her head. “Worry for me, Finn. Just… Don’t _doubt_ me when I tell you he’s alive.” She doesn’t wait for him to reply and instead steps outside, letting the door fall shut with a soft thud behind her.

Meditation will be good.

She just needs to… She needs to _not_ think.

Meditation it is.

.

.

.  
**ONE WEEK LATER**  
YAVIN IV  
DAMERON FARM

“Catch me, Uncle Chewie!”

Kida’s happy screech echoes across the vast expanse of Poe and Finn’s backyard, and Chewie’s soft roar in response makes her daughter squeal before she takes off, her little legs carrying her as fast as they can manage while Chewie lumbers after her slowly, long arms outstretched towards her.

Rey smiles at the sight and then leans back against the side of the house, letting her eyes stray towards the other end of the yard, where Obi and Neo are running around in a similar fashion to Kida and Chewbacca. Their light, soft giggles and squeals fill the air as Poe chases them, growling playfully as he pretends to be the cuddle and tickle monster the boys had dubbed him to be.

Luke and Leia are standing a little to the side, both panting from the previous game of tag they had indulged their granddaughter and grandniece in. While Rey herself holds little fondness for the man that had, in his own words, attempted to separate her and Kylo for the greater good of the galaxy, she cannot deny that he is an excellent grandfatherly figure to her daughter, and it is easy to see that Luke adores Kida.

That is the only reason Rey had decided to let her daughter form a relationship with the Skywalker twins—they may not approve of her relationship with Kylo, or their marriage, but they _love_ Kida.

“Hey kid.”

Rey grins at the familiar voice and its accompanying Force Signature, turning to find Han—who had been detained on a mysterious job while Leia, Luke, and Chewbacca arrived on Yavin IV a few days ago—standing behind her, his trusty leather jacket slung casually over one shoulder.

“Hey Han,” she smiles, relaxing just a tad when he leans on the wall beside her, watching Chewbacca and Kida run around with a wry smile on his lips. He had told her once of Chewbacca’s own wife and son, of how remnants of the Empire got their hands on them and killed them before he and Chewie could save them, and how Chewbacca latched onto Ben after that, treating him like he was his own—

As he does Kida now.

Sometimes Rey believes Ben falling to the dark side may have broken Chewie’s heart more than anyone else’s, despite what the twins and Han would say.

“Listen,” Han begins after a moment of silence, shifting uncomfortably before looking back at her. “I gotta tell you somethin’, and I think it’d be best if we didn’t talk _here_.” He waves his hand in the direction of their extended family, wincing a little at the implication, but persisting nonetheless. “You wanna do this in private, kid, trust me.”

She nods slowly, feeling rather apprehensive, and follows him as he leads her back to where he had landed the Falcon on the edge of the clearing near her own little house.

He leads her onto his ship and the Force buzzes around her, anticipation and worry tinting her vision a little blurry. “What’s going on, Han?” she demands when he gestures for her to sit at the Dejarik table uncomfortably. He is visibly nervous and uncomfortable, and Rey has known him long enough to know that Han only gets uncomfortable when the subject pertains to something of an _emotional_ issue.

The thought makes her vaguely uncomfortable as well.

“Look, I—” He breaks off and runs his fingers through his hair as he curses. “Kriff, shouldn’t be _me_ tellin’ you ‘bout this, but you gotta hear it from _someone_.”

Her heart clenches, and she has _such a bad feeling_ about this—

“I got a lead about Ben’s whereabouts,” he finally blurts, and suddenly it’s like her legs are unable to support her weight anymore. “That's where I was—I was checkin’ it out. Wanted to know if it was legit ‘fore I said anythin’.”

She stumbles back, collapsing on the bench as she stares up at Han with wide eyes.

“Wha—was it—” she breaks off, her voice choked and faint as she attempts to regain control of her rapidly spiraling emotions. “It was legit then?” There is a tendril of desperation in the Force, and she can’t quite tell if it’s hers or Han’s and that _terrifies_ her, because if the news had been _good_ , he would just have told her in front of everyone.

She watches, eyes growing watery with unshed tears, as Han pulls out a box from a cabinet, his hands trembling a little as he sets it down before her.

“I’m so sorry, Rey,” he whispers.

.

.

.

**YAVIN IV** **  
GREAT MASSASSI TEMPLE**

The intense silence that usually permeates the Great Temple is broken by the patter of hurried footsteps, followed by a sound he can only recognize as _sobbing_. Her Force Signature—lively and vibrant, as it had been on the day he met her—feels burdened with pain and grief, and he can _feel_ , through what remains of their Bond, that she is closer to _breaking_ than she has ever been before.

Seeing her in such a state _rattles_ him like little else has in years, and it is nearly frightening to realize that he _is_ beginning to feel again.

He’s not felt strong emotions in a long time, and though he is aware of the fact that he _loves_ his wife and his daughter—despite the distance he has purposefully kept between them—he has not consciously _felt_ said love in a long time.

He watches, cloaked in shadows, as Rey falls to her knees in the middle of the large chamber that had once been used by the Massassi and then by the Rebel Alliance.

Heart-wrenching sobs fall from her lips as she kneels on the stone floor, hunched over with her arms wrapped around herself. He recognizes the position she has curled herself in—had seen her curl into the same little ball many times over the course of their relationship, especially during her pregnancy.

“Why?”

Her desolate whisper echoes through the empty and abandoned halls, and something deep in his chest aches, twisting painfully as he listens to his wife’s cries.

“ _You promised_!” she cries suddenly, unfurling from the ball she had curled herself into, pounding her fists onto the stone floors in frustration. “You _promised_. You promised you’d come back for me— _how could you abandon us_?”

There is a sense of shattered heartbreak in her voice which he has never heard before and it _frightens_ him.

“Kylo,” she sobs, and he startles, eyes locking on her slim form. His heart begins pounding and he can feel his palms grow sweatier at the mere thought that she had seen him, or even simply _sensed_ him, but before he can turn and _run_ , she bursts into tears again, stretching out her left arm and resting her forehead on the inked skin he knows lies hidden beneath her sleeve.

“How could you do this to me?”

Her forlorn whisper and its implication hits him like a sledgehammer to the chest—the proof he had planted for the First Order to find. Proof of his death after he had disposed of Hux and Snoke, which would leave the First Order without any leaders, and would allow him to return to his wife and his child.

They must have found it.

 _Rey_ must have found it.

There’s a hollow ache in his chest, and he finds that he can’t _breathe_ at the mere thought of his wife thinking him dead—thinking him truly lost.

His mind feels somewhat dazed, and his body moves without his permission, stepping out of the safety the shadows had provided him with over the years. Before he realizes what he is doing, he has crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside Rey, reaching out his hand to touch her shoulder.

“Rey.”

His voice is hoarse and raw from disuse, but she understands and hears him.

She looks up at him with wide, red eyes that are still glassy with tears, and he is struck by how _lovely_ she is, and how much he loves her still, despite everything that had happened since last they spoke.

“Are you a Ghost?”

He merely blinks at her, unsure of how to respond to the query when he is still attempting to come to terms with finally having shown himself as he is now. “No,” he finally replies, blinking back tears of his own as he stares at her, desperately struggling to find the right words to tell her how he is feeling.

“I’m real,” he breathes, the words knocking the breath out of him as he speaks them, because he hasn’t _felt_ real since he had killed Snoke—since his mind had _shattered_ along with the Force Bond he had shared with Snoke for most of his life. He’s not felt like the man who had searched, found and married the love of his life in a long time.

Her expression changes, twisting into something between _anger_ and _disbelief_ , and before he has fully processed her intentions, she has shoved him backwards and he stumbles, tripping back and landing painfully on his back, head bouncing off of the rough stone floor. He chokes, every muscle in his body tensing as a memory flashes through his mind—the putrid smell of smoke in his nostrils and the screaming pain in the shredded remains of his left arm—even as Rey pushes herself closer, rising above him with dark, furious eyes and cheeks stained with fresh tear tracks.

“How can you be _real_?” she spits, pushing at his shoulder harshly, and he can feel her using her tumultuous connection to the Force to verify his words. “ _You were dead_ ,” she hisses, and his heart _aches_ when he feels a glimpse of the agony she had been in for the past five years—had it truly been that long?—as she waited for him to return to her.

“I came close,” he admits, eyes straying towards the stump that had once been his left arm before he looks up at her again, knowing she can see the scar that disfigures his face, cutting from the top of his eyebrow down across his nose and lips, pulling the corner of his mouth down in a perpetual scowl. “Sometimes I wish I was.”

The words are harsh, and he, rationally, understands that they will be incredibly painful for Rey to hear, but he cannot seem to recall how to filter his thoughts before he speaks them aloud.

The dry sob that falls from Rey's lips in response draws his attention back to her, and something deep inside his chest _twists_ at the sight of her tears—an instinct that seems intent on solving whatever is causing her grief, on offering her whatever she needs to _smile_ and be happy.

“What happened to you?” she whispers, her fingers lingering over the scar on his face, and it takes every ounce of control that he has to not flinch away from her gentle touch.

“I killed Snoke,” he replies in the same hushed whisper, “and I disposed of Hux… But I couldn’t do it before they destroyed me as well.” When he remembers, he can still feel the way his mind had _shattered_ when he delivered the killing blow. The fight had been long and bitter, and he had been certain, in the moments after Snoke had pinned him and tore off his left arm, that he was destined to lose his life in his attempt to secure Rey and his daughter’s future.

He'd not cared.

He'd fought carelessly and fiercely, and he had only been able to defeat his Master because he had fought like he'd had nothing left to lose—he _hadn't_ had anything left to lose.

“Kylo,” Rey whispers, sagging onto his chest as tears begin running down her cheeks anew, her torment and sadness coiling through the Force, so intense and strong it has him gasping for breath. With trembling uncertainty, he moves to wrap his remaining arm around her shoulders, pulling her body flush against his. His mind struggles to come to terms with everything he'd done in the past few minutes, from finding his wife grieving his death, to revealing himself to her, despite his best intentions to stay away from her and their daughter—

He is a fool after all, it seems.

“Please don't leave us again,” Rey whispers against the tender skin of his neck, her arms wrapped around him so tightly he is quite sure she will never let him go again. “I don't care what Snoke and Hux did to you—” He tenses when her fingers trail down to his arm, curling around the stump where it ends abruptly, just below his elbow. “This doesn't make you less _you_ , Kylo.”

He _wants_ to believe her—he truly does—but he's not believed in himself, hasn't _felt_ like himself, in a very long time, and he's not sure he is still the man Rey thinks he is. “I don't have our tattoo anymore,” he says slowly, because while it is the least important thing in the entire situation, it is one of the first things he had thought when the realisation of the loss sank in.

“I don't care about the kriffing tattoo, Kylo,” Rey huffs exasperatedly, smacking his chest playfully, as she had hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. A soft chuckle falls from his lips, followed closely by a choked sob when Rey's fingers curl in his hair, drawing him to her as he cries.

“I wanted to return,” he chokes, clutching at Rey’s lithe form, pressing his ear against her chest to listen to the soothing rhythm of her heartbeat. “But I couldn’t—I couldn’t risk—”

“Shhhh,” Rey shushes, dragging her fingers through his hair in a motion so soothing he feels his entire body go slack in her embrace, sagging into her arms further without a second thought. “It’s okay. You’re here now. You’re _home_ , Kylo. I _love_ you. _We_ love you. You’re safe.”

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes, curling his fingers in the back of her tunic tightly, attempting to _ground_ himself, and to bask in the warmth of her light. A little bead of light unfurls in the center of his chest, almost as though it is stretching out towards hers, awakening something _good_ inside him after years of naught but darkness and pain.

It _hurts_ , re-establishing his connection to the light, to the Force, to _Rey_ —but it is worth it, he decides.

Her light is incandescent and all-encompassing, and he feels _tiny_ in the wake of her strength—he does not deserve a woman as kind and beautiful as Rey, and he knows he does not, but he _loves_ her, and now that he has her, he doesn’t think he is capable of ever letting her go again.

He had tried—for the past few years, he had _tried_.

He had watched them from afar, often half out of his mind as he tried to sort reality from visions, but did not return to her—to his _daughter_ —for fear of hurting them. Surely, he had reasoned, she would be better off with the likes of her bodyguard and his pilot.

“I’m yours,” she whispers as the thought crosses his mind once again, despite the fact that Dameron has never so much as looked at Rey the way he looks at FN-2187—Finn now, if he has overheard correctly—or that Rey and Finn had never so much as exchanged anything more than a friendly hug.

He knows she is his, as he is hers.

He simply cannot believe it.

Fortunately, he need not explain the tangled web of thoughts that occupies his mind. Rey smiles radiantly as she holds him, her happiness permeating the reinvigorated Bond, pressing her lips to his forehead in a gesture so tender that it makes his heart ache.

“Are you ready to go home?” she whispers after a short silence, lips pressed against his temple as she speaks, fingers curled in his hair, while he has his remaining arm wrapped around her waist.

His eyes slip shut of their own volition, and images flash before his eyelids—images of love and laughter and their daughter demanding their attention, of Poe and Finn and their sons and his mother and father and even his uncle.

Home.

His eyes flutter open, and he can feel his lips curling up into a smile to mirror Rey’s.

“Let’s go home.”

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote! Thank everyone who is still with me at this point :) You are all the absolute best, and I could not have done this without you guys!
> 
> Hugs and kudos to Meaghan (Juulna) for being the bestest beta and friend :D   
> Thank you! <3
> 
> Love, Annaelle
> 
> PS. Check out my other works (Absolute Magnetism and Trimurti for more Reylo and DarkJediPilot from me :D *shameless self-promotion)


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